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MISS ETON OF EYON COURT 


LOVELL’S 

INTERNATIONAL SERIES 

OF 

MODERN NOVELS. 

No. 1. MISS ETON OF ETON COUKT. By Katharine 
S. Macquoid. 30 C ents. 

No. 2. HARTAS MATURIN. By H. F. Lester. 50 Cents. 

No. 3. TALES OF TO-DAY. By George R. Sims, 

author of “Mary Jane's Memoirs.” 30 Cents. 

No. 4. ENGLISH LIFE SEEN THROUGH YANKEE 

EYES. By T. C. Crawford. 50 Cents. 

No. 5. PENNY LANCASTER, FARMER. By Mrs. 
Bellamy, author of “ Old Man Gilbert. ’ 

50 Cents. 

No. 6. UNDER FALSE PRETENCES. By Adeline 

Sergeant. 50 Cents. 

No. 7. IN EXCHANGE FOR A SOUL. By Mary 

Linskill. * In Press 

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Other books by well-known authors are in course of 

preparation, and will be published at regular intervals. 

The above are all published in cloth; price per volume^ 



FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY, 

142 AND 144 Worth Street, New York. 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT 


/ 

By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID, 


AUTHOR OF ‘‘patty/' “AT THE RED GLOVE," “ IN THE SWEET 
SPRINGTIME," ETC., ETC. 




NEW YORK 

FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY 

142 AND 144 Worth Street 






Copyright, 18S9, 

By John W Lovell. 

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MISS EYON OF EYON COURT. 


CHAPTER I. 

MARJORIE. 

Miss Eyon had always lived at Eyon Court. Since her 
brother John died she had reigned as undisputed governor 
of Eyon Court and all that appertained to it. Down 
in Wenburn, the little gray village that lies on the hill- 
side far below the gaunt Manor house, it was said that 
the property was very large and that Miss Eyon had no 
power to will it away. She was only a life tenant, every- 
thing, including the house and all the personal property, 
would go to a young girl, her great-niece Marjorie, the 
daughter of a man who had shamed his people, the 
Eyons, of Eyon Court, by marrying a mere pretty face, a 
girl without a penny, a poor country parson's daughter. 

To-day, the weather being gloomy and lowering 
enough for November, though it was only September, 
the Wenburn gossips had assembled earlier than usual at 
the Bladebone, and while they stood before the bar win- 
dow, each waiting for his mugful of ale, this one sub- 
ject of the aunt and the niece was on every tongue — that 


4 


3f ISSEY ON OF ETON COURT. 


is to say, on every tongue that wagged ; about four 
mouths were seldom closed ; the other gossips listened 
and swallowed their thin ale. 

On a stone seat outside the inn two men sat smoking 
long clay pipes. The pipes kept them silent, and a suc- 
cession of blue wreaths of smoke had formed a veil, 
through which a shaggy red beard in the one case, and 
in the other a glowing crimson nose, could alone be 
accurately distinguished. 

She be cominV' said red-beard at last. 

His companion bent his head on one side and listened, 
He was a trifle deaf, but even a deafer man could have 
distinctly heard the grating of wheels as they climbed 
the hill below the village. 

Woonkers — '' the red-nosed man was speaking now, 
“Ah would like to see f meetin' atwixt t’ old maid an' 
t’young lass, nobbut t’will be cat an' dog life atween 'em." 

The red-bearded man took his pipe from his mouth and 
held it between his fingers. He contemplated his com- 
panion with surprise, and also with some contempt. 

“You roam from place to place, Tobias, till you for- 
gits t'powers that be. Man, Muss Eyon is t'queen in 
this part ofYoredale, let alone other places, so now ye 
know." 

Tobia.s closed his huge fist, then opened it, and flung 
his hand outwards with scorn. 

“ Mah sakes," he said, “Ah may roam, but Ah be a 
free man ; Ah hev no customers to trim mah sails fur ! 
Likes o' you. Muster Butterman, mun shape their tongues 
to please their betters. Poor deevils." 


MABJOUIK 


5 

Mr. Luke White, who sold butter and all necessary 
articles at the one shop in Wenburn, at this scoff turned 
so red that his face and beard and eyebrows seemed 
ablaze together ; but he did not answer. 

A postchaise with two tired horses came up at the 
moment, and stopped before the Bladebone. Before the 
postboy could make inquiry, a girl’s face looked out of 
the carriage window. 

Tobias muttered an exclamation, but Luke White stood 
up and raised his hat. 

^'Goon as fast as you can,'’ the girl's young voice 
said to the postboys; ‘‘that is Eyon Court, the gray 
house upon the hill in front. " 

She drew in her head, and the carriage drove on. 

Several of the mug drainers had come out, and now 
there was a noisy chorus of praise about the lass's beauty. 

“ Woonkers," said Tobias, “ there will be a pair o' 
queens oop at t' Court. 

Luke White shook his head and muttered something in 
his teeth that had a sound of dissent. 

Meanwhile the younger Miss Eyon, or Marjorie, as the 
gossips at the Bladebone called her, was looking out at 
the scenery while the carriage climbed the steep ascent. 
The slow rate of the horses gave her plenty of time to 
observe that the carriage road was terraced up the left 
side of the ridge which shut in this side of Yoredale. Far 
below on her right was the broad dashing river, fuller 
than usual ; so much rain had fallen early in the month 
that instead of being partly cumbered by gray stone 
heaps, the water flowed briskly, churning yellow foam 


6 


MISS EYON OF ETON COUBT. 


against its stony banks and also against any obstacle 
that came in its way. On the farther side of the river 
the hills rose almost straight above it, and did not form 
an unbroken ridge like their opposite neighbors. De- 
tached giants rose up with huge square-capped heads, 
while taller, more distant peaks, peeped over the shoul- 
ders of their dark brethren. There were few trees and 
little grass on the brown hills in the foreground, and 
Marjorie thought they made a drear and savage picture. 
Now and then a gorge showed between two of them, and 
in this she could make out a slender thread of silver as it 
glinted down to the river, shaded by trees overhead. 

‘^Theremaybe beauty in those little glens,” the girl 
thought; ‘‘but I did not think a place could look so 
dreary at this time of the year.” 

She turned quickly ; the chaise began to jolt, as if its 
back and front meant to part company. The mountain 
ridge on her right curved forward towards the river, and 
made a seeming barrier some way in front ; on the spur 
of this, thirty feet or so above, but directly facing her, 
stood a sombre-looking house, which she knew must be 
Eyon Court. 

The carriage was jolting across a little stone-cumbered 
stream which ran past the gates of the Manor House on 
its way to the Yore. 

The postilion shrugged his shoulders when he got 
down to open the gates. There was no lodge in sight, 
and the drive inside the gates was almost as rough as the 
road had been. Another quarter of an hour passed at a 
crawling pace in semi-darkness, for the trees grew thickly 


MABJORIE, 


7 

on each side, and then Marjorie saw in the gloom a heavy 
stone portico supported on pillars ; a faint light flickered 
in the pitch-like darkness within. 

The carriage door was opened, a tall woman let down 
the steps, and held out a large hand to help the visitor. 

'‘Follow me, ma’am,'' she said, “the man must 
wait 

Marjorie was ready to say she would pay the man and 
dismiss him, but the woman had turned in at the dark 
doorway, and the girl felt she must follow her. 

She saw that she was in a large hall, only lighted by a 
candle which her guide took up from the table. 

“Ye'll come this way, ma’am," she said. 

Marjorie could make out that she was going up-stairs. 
The girl put out her hand and felt the way ; but in a few 
moments her guide stretched a long arm across the balus- 
ters, and the cheerful light of a hanging lamp shone out 
over the hall and the broad staircase. Marjorie looked 
instinctively to see her guide's face, but she could only 
see a straight pair of broad shoulders, as the woman went 
briskly upstairs. 

There was an open archway on the landing, and in- 
stead of following the staircase the tall woman passed 
into a long gallery beyond the archway, and went on till 
she reached a dark baize door on the right, at the end of 
the gallery. This gallery was feebly lighted, but Mar- 
jorie saw that stags' horns here and there projected from 
the dark walls. 

Her guide opened this baize door, and then another 
door within. 


8 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT, 


‘^You are to go in, ma’am,'' she said. 

Marjorie went in, and the door closed behind her. 

She felt sure this was her Aunt's room, and she had 
resolved not to be shy with her. 

Miss Eyon’s letter of invitation had been cold enough, 
but Marjorie decided that she would go and live with her 
and make the best of things. She had the right of choice 
in the matter, and this had been explained to her by the 
lawyer before she left the house of her governess, Mrs. 
Locker. 

Marjorie had always been a favorite, and she expected 
to please her guardian also, but this gloomy reception had 
startled her. She looked scared as she came out from 
behind the screen that masked the door and found herself 
face to face with her great-aunt. 

The room was not very large, and it looked smaller 
from the dark oak panelling that reached from floor to 
ceiling. A silver lamp stood on the mantel shelf, and 
this was deeply shaded so that its light was concentrated 
on the figure seated in a high-backed wooden chair just 
below. A tall upright figure in a gown of stiff black silk, 
not high to the throat, but cut open in a point half-way to 
the waist, the opening filled in with crossing folds of soft 
white muslin fastened just below the chin with a small 
diamond brooch. What a chin it was, square and pale — 
there was no trace of color on it or on the rest of the face, 
not even on the high cheek bones. Pale brown threads 
showed in the bands of gray hair just peeping out beneath 
Miss Eyon's white muslin cap — this seemed fastened to 
her head by its broad band of dove-colored ribbon, for 


MABJOBIE. 


9 

she wore no cap-strings to hide her withered throat; only 
her eyes small and blue, showed that she was a living 
woman, as she fixed them on the startled girl. 

Marjorie could hardly breathe, she had no power to look 
away, those eyes seemed to pierce through her feeble 
show of courage, and to read everything she really felt. 
A curious smile shortened Miss Eyon’s long upper lip, 
and showed how colorless and compressed its fellow was. 

Good evening, Marjorie.'' It seemed as if an autom- 
aton had spoken — the voice was so lifeless — and yet the 
girl felt in it a rebuke for her want of self-possession. 
‘‘Why do you stand in the back-ground like a child," it 
seemed to say, “ instead of coming forward to greet me." 

Marjorie went forward mechanically. 

“ Good evening. Aunt." She was going nearer to kiss 
the still face, when Miss Eyon held out her hand across 
her writing table. 

“You are welcome," she said, “that will do. I am 
no kisser, Marjorie. We shall be better friends if you fall 
into my ways. Sit you down where I can see your 
face." 

Miss Eyon sat before a leather-topped writing table ; 
it had a double row of pigeon holes along the back and a 
little brass rail fenced in the sides. The only way of ap- 
proaching her closely was from the right side of her chair, 
a huge fender guarded the other ; and now, as if she feared 
a repetition of Marjorie's proffered greeting. Miss Eyon 
turned her back on the undefended spot. She pointed to 
a chair placed at the edge of the hearth rug, just in front 
of the fire. 


lO 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT, 


Marjorie’s cheeks tingled after her drive through the 
keen air, and she looked about for a hand screen. Once 
more the keen blue eyes seemed to be mocking her fruit- 
less search. 

Marjorie sat down before the blaze and submitted to 
her Aunt’s silent scrutiny. 

Miss Eyon held up a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses 
that hung from her neck by a black ribbon, and gazed at 
Marjorie without any change of expression. Then she 
rang a bell that stood on her writing table. 

‘"Hannah,” she said, when the woman opened the door 
without any noise, “ Miss Marjorie will go to her room, 
and at seven o’clock you will bring her to the dining-parlor. ” 

Maijorie felt inclined to dance as she followed Hannah. 
Instead of going back along the gallery, the woman went 
up three steps on the left which the girl had not previously 
noticed beyond the baize door. Opening another door, 
she led Marjorie into a much longer gallery than the first, 
high and narrow, with only a flickering light at its further 
end. Marjorie saw that this light came from a half-opened 
door. Hannah silently held the door open for her, and 
she passed into her bedroom. A cheerful fire in a good- 
sized grate, and a pair of lighted candles on a muslin- 
covered toilet table, gave at first sight a cheerful aspect 
to the room ; a gloomy-looking mirror in a black frame, 
and beside it a huge dark wardrobe, damped Marjorie’s 
joy at her escape from investigations. She shivered a 
little. Still, it was a relief to see on the further side of 
the room a modern brass bedstead without hangings and 
some ordinary bedroom chairs. 


MARJORIE. 


1 1 

''Ah'll fetch you when dinner's served." Hannah 
looked hard at her, and Marjorie was able for the first 
time to see her guide's face. It was thin, and not in 
any way remarkable. A long nose and a pair of dark, 
sunken eyes, gave a look of shrewdness, but Marjorie's 
attention was chiefly caught by the long-armed, angular 
figure, and its stiff movements. 

Can't you stay, Hannah.?" the girl said. ''I want 
you to unpack my trunk, please." 

‘'Then Ah must have your keys, ma'am." 

The voice was not unmusical, but Marjorie thought the 
woman was staying against her will. 

Hannah went down on her knees before the trunk and 
began to remove the paper wrappings ; she gave a sup- 
pressed grunt at the sight of two dainty evening gowns 
that lay at the top of the trunk. 

Marjorie was taking the things out of her bag. 

“ Don't you like my gowns, Hannah? I thought you 
would admire them." 

“They're well enough, ma'am, no doubt; but I don- 
nut understand such fripperies, I was thinkin' o' t' 
waste. You'll find no use for them at Eyon Court, ma'am." 

The girl laughed so heartily that Hannah shook her 
head and frowned. 

“Now, Hannah, I have always heard that Aunt Louisa 
was a beauty. I am sure she used to wear smart gowns 
when she was young, and she'll like to see me in them 
— of course she will. I shall never be a beauty, but for 
all that I shall make myself look as nice as possible." 
She looked very winning as she said this. 


12 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


My mistress always wears black, ma’am'' — 

'' Of course, and very proper, too. If old women only 
knew how gay colors jar with their faded skins they 
would always wear black or white. Tell me, I want to 
know whether my great-aunt was not very handsome. 
It is so strange she has never married." 

Hannah had been unpacking and placing various 
articles on the trays of the wardrobe. She turned round 
a reproving face. 

' Miss Eyon is my mistress, ma'am. " 

“Well, but I'm not asking you to tell any tales," 
you old goose, Marjorie said to herself, “I am sure 
she must have been very handsome from what I've 
heard. " 

Hannah gave a quick look of inquiry, and then became 
graver than before. “ Is there not a picture of her some- 
where?" the girl went on, “there surely must be. Ah, 
well, I shall explore the house to-morrow, and then I 
shall find out." 

“There is a picture of Miss Eyon," Hannah spoke 
slowly, “but you would not find it yoursel', ma'am ; it 
lies in t'barred room, and that is in t'next gallery. Ah’ll 
mebbe show it ye, ma'am, one day." 

She went away hurriedly. While the girl was dress- 
ing she thought over Hannah’s words. “Another gal- 
lery, is there. I suppose the house is square. Well, I 
shall see to-morrow." 

When she was ready she looked at her watch — only 
half-past six. Another box which held her books and 
her other possessions had not been brought to her room ; 


MARJORIE. 


13 

there was not so much as a print hanging against the 
walls which she could fill up time by looking at. Mar- 
jorie felt unwilling to go back to her aunt, and the old 
lady evidently did not want her till dinner-time, but the 
novelty of everything, and the stir which this important 
change in her life had caused, made the girl feel too ex- 
cited to sit still and wait for Hannah’s return. 

‘'I might as well find the ‘barred room,' as she calls 
it, and see the picture ; there can’t be any ghosts about 
yet. ” 

Her dark blue eyes were dancing with mischief, as she 
took up one of the candles from the dressing-table. 


14 


MISS EYON OF EYON COURT. 


CHAPTER II. 

THK BARRED ROOM. 

Marjorie looked up and down the passage outside her 
room. There were three doors on the opposite side, and 
at the end, close by, was a larger door. She tried this. 
It was fastened, but the key was in the lock ; it turned 
easily, and led, as Majorie expected it would, into another 
long passage at right angles with the gallery she had left 
There was a close misty atmosphere here, and yet the 
girl fancied the air felt warmer. 

She passed two doors on her right, on the left was a 
blank wall. Beyond the doors she saw something dark, 
and as she came up to it she saw that it was a dark green 
curtain. 

She found herself shivering. ‘‘Nonsense, what is there 
to be afraid of ; I am too absurd ; I believe this is the 
barred room. 

She drew aside the curtain, the rings caught one in 
another, and as she put up her hand to help them some- 
thing fell on the ground. Marjorie held down her candle 
and its light fell on a key that had evidently hung above 
the door behind the curtain. She put the key into the key- 
hole and opened the door. The room seemed to be full 
of dust, but how large it was. When she held her candle 
above her head the girl saw there were two uncurtained 


THE BARRED ROOM. 


15 

windows, and across these from top to bottom were thick 
iron bars, set so near that even a child could not have 
squeezed between them. The close atmosphere increased 
the likeness to a prison. 

Will Aunt Louisa shut me up here, I wonder, when 
Lm naughty.” Marjorie laughed, but it seemed to her 
strange and uncanny that there should be such a place in 
the house. 

The walls were panelled with dark wood like those in 
her aunt’s study, and there was some heavy dark furniture. 

Marjorie shivered at the sight of a gaunt four-post bed- 
stead shrouded in brown holland till it looked enormous. 
There was one picture over the high mantel-shelf and the 
girl gazed at it attentively. Could this be meant for her 
aunt ? It was difficult to believe that this lovely, happy 
face could be a portrait of Miss Eyon. 

What trials she must have gone through,” the girl 
thought, to bring that hard look she has now,” and yet 
as she continued to gaze at the bright young face a like- 
ness revealed itself. There was the firm chin, but it looked 
round instead of square on the canvas, there was that 
keen searching expression in the blue eyes which had so 
troubled Marjorie. The mouth was a puzzle. Instead of 
the pale compressed lips which had looked so scornful, 
this mouth was full of love and feeling ; the rosy lips 
curved as if to speak tender words, and one fair upraised 
hand seemed to be wafting a kiss. 

She must have been very beautiful,” Marjorie said pen- 
sively. '' I dare say I shall get to like her.” 

A sharp sound broke into the stillness ; Marjorie started 


1 6 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 

and cried out, and then in breathless terror she fled out of 
the room, locked the door behind her, and pulled the 
curtain across it This made a current in the still air, and 
out went her candle. She had to grope her way along 
the passage, helped by patches of dim gray light high up 
in the blank wall. She gave an exclamation of relief when 
she came out into her own gallery and locked the door of 
communication. 

‘‘ Thank goodness,'' she said, and then turning she 
cried out again at the sight of a tall figure standing in her 
doorway. 

^‘Dear heart," said Hannah, ^^and where may you 
have been, ma'am ? " 

‘‘ Oh, how you startled me, Hannah, but I had got a 
fright, so I suppose I was upset. I have been to your 
barred room, and I have seen my aunt's picture. She 
a beauty, Hannah, and I'm sure she must have been 
greatly admired. 

Hannah held her head up stiffly, but she was silent. 

Marjorie crossed to the table and looked at her 
watch. 

‘‘It wants a whole quarter to seven, and you have 
plenty of time. Were you here when my aunt was 
engaged ? I know some one whose mother knew Aunt 
Louisa. I believe every one knows that she was engaged 
to be married. 

“ I do not say nay, ma'am. 

Hannah had taken up the girl's travelling dress and was 
folding it ready to place in the wardrobe. Marjorie smiled. 

^‘You had better tell me at once," she said, “I shall 


THE BABRED BOOM, 


17 

not leave you in peace else. I was told that Uncle John 
stopped her marriage because the lover lost his money, 
and that Aunt Louisa never forgave her brother for doing 
this. I want you to tell me why she did not run away 
with her lover — I should.” 

''Maam — Miss Marjorie, we do not talk of such like 
things at Eyon Court. Miss Eyon was ill for months 
after the break came, and the gentleman — well. Ah 
believe he took a wife — but Ah nivver heard his name 
since.” 

^'What a faithless wretch, and such a beautiful creat- 
ure as she must have been. Oh, dear Hannah, I am 
glad you told me. Poor, poor Aunt Louisa. I expect 
she had hated all men ever after.” She sighed and stood 
thinking. Then, in a changed voice : Hannah, do 

you mean to tell me that men are not allowed to come 
to Eyon Court ? ” 

'^The doctor comes, ma'am, when he's sent for, and 
now and again the Vicar of Wenburn, and — and there's 
Mr. Brown.” , 

‘‘Who is Mr. Brown ? Is he old or young ? ” 

“Eh, ma'am. Ah cannut rightly say. Ah might call 
young what to you might seem old.” 

“Is he good-looking ? ” 

Hannah nodded. 

“We sud be moving, ma'am. It's on the stroke of 
seven.” 

“ Wait an instant. What does Mr. Brown come here 
for ? Is he my aunt's lawyer or business man ? He 
can't be her lover, you know.” 


i8 


3nSS EYON OF EYON COUBT. 


Hannah looked at her severely. 

‘‘Miss Marjorie, will you please not talk about lovers. 
If you named sic a word to my mistress it would breed 
a quarrel wiv her. She would not keep a maid in the 
house an hour who had to do wiv mankind, and she 
would say at your years, ma’am, ’twas far too early to 
carry such a thought aboot ye. ” 

I’m nineteen, Hannah, and some girls marry at 
seventeen.” 

“Do they, ma’am. I’ll light you, if you please, along 
the passage. 

Miss Eyon was sitting in the dining-room waiting for 
her niece. She looked pleasanter and altogether more 
human than she had looked on Marjorie’s arrival. The 
extreme distaste she had felt before-hand towards this 
interruption of her usual routine had doubtless affected 
her. She considered that by the terms of her brother 
John’s will this girl was forced on her. The family law- 
yer had tried to show Miss Eyon that if she pleased to 
make a suitable allowance the girl could be placed else- 
where ; but at this suggestion she had peremptorily said 
that Marjorie must come to Eyon Court. It was, there- 
fore, inexplicable, not to say superfluous, that on the 
girl’s arrival, feelings of repugnance should manifest 
themselves. Till lately Miss Eyon had had a compan- 
ion, who read to her and mended her gloves and dusted 
the books that covered two sides of the study walls. 
But when Miss Eyon had decided to give a home to her 
niece she sent away her companion. She had her own 
plans with regard to Marjorie, and it would be far less 


THE BARRED ROOM. 


19 

difficult to execute them if she only had the girl to deal 
with. Suspicion is apt to come with years, and the old 
lady told herself that the two young women would be 
sure to hang together and to plot against her. 

Now, as she sat awaiting her niece, she was conscious 
of a certain relief. Marjorie was pleasant looking, with- 
out being a beauty. She would not, therefore, be likely 
to attract admirers. The old lady thought her niece 
seemed good-natured and simple — ''she will do as she 
is bid without any fads '' — whereas Miss Eyon had feared 
to see a fashionable young person full of airs and graces. 

A soft glimmer of cream-tinted gauze appeared when 
the door opened, and Miss Eyon put up her gold eye- 
glasses at the unwonted sight. She was obliged to own 
secretly that the girl looked elegant as well as pleasant 
in her pretty evening dress. Marjorie's light brown hair 
clustered thickly over her forehead ; her deep blue eyes 
shone brightly, and her lovely neck and arms had the 
exquisite color and the curves which only health and 
youth can give. 

Her aunt was seated near the fireplace, and as Mar- 
jorie went up to her, the girl tried to find a likeness to 
the picture in the barred room. 

Miss Eyon gave her a gracious smile. 

"You find pleasure in dressing up, do you, Marjorie.?" 

'^I — I thought you would expect me to dress, Aunt." 

Miss Eyon's upper lip straightened 

"You can do as you choose. I keep no company, 
Marjorie, and, as you see, I have not what modern people 
call a drawing-room. This dining-parlor is for your use 


20 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT. 


except at meal times, as the study is for mine. A plainer 
gown would be, I think, more in keeping with Eyon 
Court. '' 

''Very well. Aunt. '' 

The smile faded out of Marjorie’s face as she looked 
from one end to the other of the long, ill-lighted room, 
two huge sideboards, an enormous dining table, and a 
row of chairs ranged against the wall, seemed to contra- 
dict Miss Eyon’s assertion about company. 

Two tall, stout maids came in, one with a soup tureen 
and the other with plates, and Miss Eyon rose and took 
her place at the head of the table. 

The dinner was good but heavy; everything was 
carved on the sideboard, and there was no delay between 
the dishes ; but there was a gloomy solemnity about it ; 
Marjorie felt oppressed, and she was glad when Miss Eyon 
rose from table. 

" We will sit in the study to-night,” her Aunt said. " I 
shall not ask you to come there every night. You will, 
no doubt, be glad of an evening to yourself now and then. ” 

" Shall I.?” the girl thought as she followed her aunt to 
the study. "I rather think on those occasions I shall in- 
vite Hannah to spend the evenings with me. ” 

Miss Eyon went back to her great high-backed chair, 
and Marjorie began to look about her. She walked up to 
the bookcases, which reached from the floor almost to the 
ceiling on two sides of the room. 

"Come here, child,” Miss Eyon saia presently, while 
the girl was examining the books, " I want to talk to 


THi: Bar it m) room. 




The talk Marjorie found to be a series of questions so 
adroitly put that the girl became interested in answering 
them and, before she knew what she was doing, she had 
revealed more of her feelings than she would have chosen 
to do to her seemingly indifferent listener. 

arh glad to find, Marjorie, that you have not been 
used to society. You will not find Eyon Court dull.'' 

Marjorie was silent. She had already found dinner time 
very dull. 

Her great-aunt raised her glasses to her eyes and looked 
at her steadily. 

No one need be dull who is not a fool, " she said, in 
the same automatic tone with which she had greeted the 
girl. 

There was silence after this. Marjorie wanted to re- 
sume her survey of the bookcases, but a wish not to dis- 
please, kept her in her chair, trying to think of something 
to say. 

‘‘Is there a pianoforte. Aunt? " she said at last. 

“ Yes. " 

“ Do you like music. Aunt ? " 

“ No. I'm going to take a nap, Marjorie. " 

The girl waited and waited. Soon the pale lids closed. 
A great sense of freedom, came to Marjorie. Those blue, 
all-seeing eyes were off guard at last. 

She rose up noiselessly, and returned to her study of 
the books. But she had soon read the names on those 
within her reach, and they did not attract her — they 
seemed to be old travel books, topographical books, 
county hjstories, and the like, while above them was a 


22 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT. 


voluminous treatise on jurisprudence and a collection of 
dictionaries. She was afraid to mount on a chair lest she 
should disturb Miss Eyon's nap ; she went softly to the 
fireplace. Several miniatures and photographs hung on 
the side farthest from her aunt Among these Marjorie 
recognized a likeness of her father ; but she could not find 
one of her great-uncle John, Miss Eyon’s elder brother, 
the last master of Eyon Court 

On the other side of the fire place there was only one 
portrait, a photograph of a young man. The face seemed 
to Marjorie so very handsome that she longed for a nearer 
view of it She stood in the middle of the hearthrug, and 
craned her neck forward, but the shadow of the lamp 
made the photograph indistinct 

^‘Go round to the other side, you will see it better."' 
Marjorie started and looked round. Those blue eyes 
were fixed on her with the look she dreaded — the look that 
evidently could read her thoughts as easily as it could rest 
on her face. 

‘‘I — I — " she began to stammer. 

There is no need to invent an excuse," Miss Eyon 
said coldly. ‘'You like beauty I see. Come this side 
of my chair and unhook the portrait" 

She smiled with so much meaning that the girl felt 
troubled ; she was provoked too. Miss Eyon seemed 
to think she had caught her trespassing, whereas it was 
quite natural that she should look about her. 

She did as she was bid, however, and took down the 
portrait Miss Eyon smiled to herself. She saw that 
Marjorie was neither deceitful nor untruthful, for she did 


THE' BARBED BOOM. 


23 

not as much as glance at her aunt before she fixed her 
eyes on the portrait she now held in her hand — evidently 
she was not accustomed to be watched. 

Well, what do you think of it? '' 

Marjorie hesitated. 

‘'Is he — is this gentleman, a great friend of yours, 
Aunt ? 

“I know him,'" she turned her face away. “Why do 
you ask that, child ? 

“Because something in him puzzles me. When I 
looked at him from the other side I thought his face 
beautiful ; I don’t like it half so well now I see it closer.” 

“Why?” 

“I think it is something in the mouth.” She put her 
finger over the lower part of the face ; “ No, it is in the 
eyes ; I believe it is in both,” she said, after another ex- 
periment. “It is a cruel look, cruel and greedy ; and 
yet the face is so handsome.” 

No answer came, and she looked at her aunt. 

Miss Eyon had again closed her eyes ; her face was 
death-like in its rigidity. 

In her alarm Marjorie thought a fit had seized her, and 
she hurried to the bell-rope. Before she reached it her 
aunt spoke. 

“ May I ask what you are about to do?” and as the 
girl looked it seemed to her that Miss Eyon’s eyes gleamed 
with anger. 

“ Cruel and greedy, eh ? ” she said. “Well, youth is 
always hard in judgment, and a photograph is apt to mis- 
lead; in your place, Marjorie, I would wait and judge 


24 


MISS ^:roN OF fyon covet. 


by what I see, and if you judge beforehand you may take 
up a foolish prejudice and be sorry for it later. You are 
sure to see this gentleman while you are at Eyon Court.'' 

Marjorie looked again at the handsome face. 

It is certainly very good-looking, and I seem to have 
seen it before, she said, slowly. ‘‘I wonder if I can 
have seen this Mr. — what is his name. Aunt } " 

‘‘Mr. Brown. Now ring the bell, child; I am tired 
and you must be tired after your journey. We keep 
early hours at Eyon Court." 

Marjorie rang. 

“Aunt" — she had been longing to ask this question — 
“you know some one I know, I fancy ? " 

“She thought that there was a slight change in her 
aunt's expression. 

“Really," she said, so indifferently, that the girl had 
scarcely courage to go on. 

“Yes, Aunt, Sir George Wolff." Miss Eyon was look- 
ing at her now with interest, but Marjorie did not feel 
conscious of being read in the same way. 

“ I saw Sir George Wolff when he was a mere lad. I 
should not fancy," she said dryly, “that AA photograph 
would be attractive — he was an ugly, awkward boy." 

Miss Eyon had put up her eye-glass, and Marjorie's 
little flush was quickly noted. 

“Sir George is so good and kind that one doesn’t think 
about his looks — I cannot tell you how good he has been 
to me." 

“Did he ask you to be Lady Wolff? " 

Marjorie looked hard at her aunt ; she began to think 


THE BARBED ROOM. 


25 


she must be a witch, or else that she had some under- 
hand way of getting information. 

‘‘Yes,'' she said, '‘he did ask me, and I was very sorry 
it could not be as he wished.'' 

“You refused him, then — do you know why you said 
no, Marjorie.? — as a rule a girl of nineteen should not 
answer for herself — she knows her own mind so little." 

Majorie burst into tears. 

“I almost wish I had said Yes. Oh, Aunt, I never 
meant to tell about poor dear Sir George. It was only 
because he was old." 

“Old" — the concentrated scorn in her Aunt's voice 
was terrible to Marjorie — “the man is about forty. But 
you were right, child. He will be quite an old man be- 
fore you have done with youth. I will keep your secret, 
never fear. No one shall know that you refused to be 
Lady Wolff. Good night." 

While she was undressing, Marjorie felt nervous. She 
started at every sound, and the old fi miture sighed and 
creaked as if it were in pain. Once, when she turned 
suddenly, it seemed to her that Mr. Brown's handsome 
face looked at her out of the polished door of the ward- 
robe. 


2(t 


MISS EYON OF FYON COURT, 


CHAPTER III. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

Marjorie sat at her breakfast. The gloom of the 
weather was reflected on her downcast face. 

The first few days at Eyon Court had given her plenty 
to do ; she explored the house, and as she became used 
to its rooms and passages, she learned to laugh at her 
fears when the old furniture creaked and the mice scuttled 
behind the wainscot. She found out, too, that although 
the garden was bare of autumn flowers, it had plainly 
known better days ; and here and there, she found a tangled 
creeper in some neglected corner, or else a rosebush al- 
most hidden away in a luxuriant growth of weeds. But 
long before she had restored order in the garden near the 
house, before she had even begun to explore the country 
outside it, there came a downpour of rain. This lasted 
for more than a week, and then came a succession of 
mists. With the first days of October, rain fell again 
heavily, and Marjorie found that it was impossible to go 
beyond the gates. She had made the discovery two days 
ago, and. on this gray, dull morning, life seemed intoler- 
able. The house was so dark and gloomy, and, now 
that she knew her way about, so uninteresting. She 
searched the bookshelves in the dining-room, but she 
could not find a novel that was not at least fifty years 
old. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, 


27 


' ‘ What shall I do ! she said to herself this morning. 

I have a great mind to ask Aunt if I may have Adelaide 
to stay with me.'' 

She sat thinking, and then she shook her head. 

love Addy as though she were my sister, but it 
would not do. She is too timid and too satirical to get on 
with Aunt Louisa. That grand manner would frighten 

Addy, and Aunt would think her foolish, and then ” 

The color flew into her cheeks. “No, I'd rather Addy 
did not come to Eyon Court. " 

It seemed to Marjorie that she could hear her friend's 
comic description of the bare old place and its pompous, 
antiquated ways — and also the laughter of her other 
school-fellow — there had only been two other pupils at 
Mrs. Locker's — as Addy gave a rendering of Aunt Louisa. 

“No, no," the girl repeated quickly, “I could not have 
Addy here." 

She longed for companionship, yet she did not know 
where she was to seek it. She had been twice down to 
the village. Except the alehouse there was nothing within 
sight bigger than a cottage, and even the cottages were 
very small and poor. Both the two Sundays had been 
so wet that her Aunt had sent Marjorie word she was not 
to go to church, but she had already learned from Hannah 
that the congregation was made up only of villagers and 
servants from Eyon Court. The church was two miles 
from the village, and the parsonage was at a greater dis- 
tance on the farther side of the moor. 

“It is too desolate," she said ; “my hair will turn gray, 
and I shall be an old woman all at once." 


28 


MISS JHYON OF ETON COVRT. 


‘•Miss Marjorie,” Hannah's voice said at her elbow. 

The housekeeper had come in silently and had been 
standing watching the girl. 

“ Oh, Hannah, how you made me jump !” 

“When you have finished breakfast, ma'am, you are to 
go to the study, if you please.” Then, as she saw how 
nervous Marjorie looked, she said, “the rain has ceased, 
ma'am, and t’ mistress said you should take a long 
walk. ” 

The dining-room opened on to the first staircase land- 
ing, so that Marjorie always had to pass her aunt’s study, 
on the way to her own room. The ground floor of the 
house was given up to the kitchen and offices, and the 
rooms at the top of the staircase leading up from this 
landing had been formerly used as the drawing-room and 
library, and Mr. Eyon’s bedroom. They were closed 
now, and the books in the library were so dull that they 
had not tempted Marjorie, when she explored the house, 
to a second inspection. 

Her aunt always came to the dining-parlor through 
another door — which led through two rooms to her own 
study — there was therefore no chance of meeting Miss 
Eyon unexpectedly in the gallery ; but her noiseless en- 
trance into the dining-room had more than once startled 
Marjorie. as she sat trying to read in the twilight. 

Hannah had come in by this way just now, but she 
did not offer to show it to Marjorie. She opened the door 
that led on to the landing, and followed the girl along the 
gallery. “You can go in, ma'am,” she said when they 
reached the study. 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, 


29 

Miss Eyon was already busy at her desk. She nodded 
to Marjorie. 

^'You look pale, child. You shut yourself up too 
much. Why don't you take a walk } " 

should like it, Aunt, only Hannah said I might lose 
my way in the mist. ” 

Miss Eyon shrugged her shoulders. 

As Hannah seldom goes outside the house, she must 
be an excellent authority," she said, in the dry voice that 
always caused Marjorie to feel that she was snubbed. 

I want to send a note to the Parsonage," Miss Eyon 
said, ^‘and you can be my postman. You have only to 
follow the path behind the village, across the moor." 

The girl's eyes were bright with expectation. Her de- 
spondency fled at this prospect of change. 

‘‘Am I to bring back any answer } " she said. 

“No." 

Mrs. Locker's house, which had been Marjorie's home 
since her mother's death, was near a town and in com- 
paratively flat country ; her own home had been much 
nearer to Eyon Court, but in greener and tamer scenery. 
There was something fascinating to the girl in the idea 
of a solitary walk across the wild moor, and as she 
hurried to her room she wished that she had gone out 
sooner, instead of listening to Hannah. 

“I have grown timid in this shut up house," she 
said. 

When she reached the moor behind the village, Mar- 
jorie felt more like herself. Her cheeks glowed and her 
eyes sparkled as she looked across the broad heath-cov- 


MISS ETON OF EYON COUBT. 


30 

ered waste. The glory of the crimson blossoms had 
faded, but a rich purple tint lay on the moor, and this 
was barred by the burnished copper of the fast dy- 
ing bracken. Here and there dull green and brown 
gorse bushes served to heighten the glorious hues of the 
brake, now burning like the wing of a golden pheasant, 
now gleaming with a cold metallic light among fronds 
where a tender green still lingered. 

Hannah had been, however, right about the mist, 
there was no distant view to be seen ; but the veil that 
hung over the landscape was not dense, and as Marjorie 
sped over the heather with a light springy step, her way 
seemed to open before her — till at last she saw a long 
low white house with a screen of trees on one side. The 
house looked lower than it really was, for the moor dipped 
into a little hollow, and but for this partial shelter the 
parsonage would not perhaps have been able to stand 
against the rash winds which had bent its screen of fir 
trees till they could not raise their heads, but stood 
crouching against the wall of loosely piled stones that 
fenced in the Vicar’s garden. The sight of the Parson- 
age, fitted with the subject of Marjorie’s thought, she re- 
membered that Sir George Wolff had told her he had 
an old college friend at Wenburn, and he had once said, 
jokingly, “If you go to live with that terrible Aunt 
Louisa, I shall ride over and see you.” 

Ah ! ” the girl sighed, “ if he only had let well alone 
he could have come, I wish — oh ! how I wish — he was 
only a friend.” 

She could scarcely remember when she had not known 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


31 


Sir George Wolff. She was only eight when she lost her 
father, and even then Sir George used sometimes to come 
and see her mother. Two years ago, when her mother 
died, he had been her best and kindest comforter ; she 
had felt that she could tell him all her troubles. Since 
then he had been abroad, but he had come to see her on 
her nineteenth birthday, and she had found him com- 
pletely changed. Marjorie thought that absence had 
made him colder and stiffer, and she felt a little shy of 
him. He was ever so much older, she fancied — too old 
to be able to understand and help her as he used to do. 
And then a few days later came the letter from Miss 
Eyon, inviting her to Eyon Court ; and next day came 
Sir George ; and when Marjorie showed him her letter he 
asked her if she could not love him well enough to be 
his wife. 

In her utter surprise the girl thought only that she had 
forever lost her friend, and she answered with cruel 
abruptness : 

^'No — I cannot — oh, how can you ask me — '' 

She had been going over this scene, and she asked 
herself which was hardest to bear — to marry an old 
husband, or to be shut up forever in dismal Eyon 
Court. 

'' I may learn to love Aunt Louisa — if I try very hard, 
but I do not love her now. She is so bitter ; she makes 
me shrink, and she is very hard, too ! Ah, poor soul, I 
suppose it was that faithless lover that turned her against 
all the world.'' 

Marjorie was young for her age and her mind was un- 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


32 

developed, but she was not unreal, and she saw that life 
must continue to be extremely dreary at Eyon Court. 

Her sudden gayety had been a mere physical impulse. 
Perhaps the certainty that now, in a few minutes, her 
message would be delivered, and that she should be on 
her way back to the gaunt old manor house, helped to 
depress her. She skirted the stone fence on her way to 
the entrance gate. 

A horse stood there fastened to the gate-post, and as 
she looked up the narrow paved way, with a plot of rank 
grass on either hand, she saw that a gentleman was 
speaking to a maid servant at the open door. 

The woman pointed sideways to the path by which 
Marjorie had come across the moor. While the girl hes- 
itated, the gentleman turned round, and then came hurry- 
ing down the path. 

‘‘Marjorie! — Miss Eyon, is it really you he ex- 
claimed, in a joyful tone, and she, forgetting her late rev- 
erie, held out her hand with a delighted smile. 

“Fancy meeting you here,'" she said. 

“You have some business here ? The Vicar, they tell 
me, is out.'' 

“I have a letter from Miss Eyon." 

Marjorie went forward and gave Miss Eyon's note to 
the rough country girl. It was evident that visitors were 
rare at the Parsonage, and the girl stared hard at Marjorie 
as she took the note. 

Sir George Wolff opened the gate for Marjorie and then 
he led his horse along while he walked beside her. 

“ I never hoped for such luck as this," he said, “ I was 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


33 

actually going on to call at Eyon Court on the chance of 
seeing you/' 

'‘You will come now — won't you?" 

"I think not. I doubt whether Miss Eyon would ad- 
mit me, and it might get you into trouble. I believe she 
dislikes visitors. I can't bear to think of you living in 
that gloomy old den, Marjorie. Are you happy there, 
Marjorie ? " 

There was such tenderness in his voice that tears came 
to the girl’s eyes. He, walking beside her with his eyes 
fixed on the simple, innocent face, saw them, but did not 
guess that he had drawn them forth. 

"My dear child," he said, with so much excitement 
that she looked up surprised. " Does she — Miss Eyon, 
I mean, make you unhappy ? " 

Marjorie had recovered from her first surprise, and she 
wondered at her own coolness. She had fancied she 
should feel so timid when she met Sir George Wolff 
again, but it was just like old times, she thought, and he 
was talking to her in the kind fatherly way of two years 
ago. 

"I don’t think Aunt wants to make me unhappy, but 
it is awfully dull." She gave a smile, half merry, half 
sad, and then as she looked up at her companion she 
saw he was angry. He was not tall, but his square 
shoulders and broad chest gave him a certain dignity, 
and Marjorie felt afraid when she saw how severely he 
was frowning. He was not a handsome man ; he had 
some good features, but exposure and the weather had 
reddened and coarsened his skin, and his gray eyes 


MISS EYON OF EYON COUKT. 


34 

wanted depth of color. Just now they looked darker than 
usual — the pupils were so large. 

^^It was altogether a sad mistake, Marjorie. I never 
could understand how your Uncle John came to make 
his sister your guardian. He, of all men, ought to have 
known better.'' 

Marjorie felt troubled. It seemed as if she had been 
complaining. She stooped down and gathered a sprig 
of heather, for they had now reached the middle of the 
moor. 

‘‘You see," she said with a pleading look in her dark 
blue eyes, “ I have only been there three weeks. I dare 
say it is partly my fault. I feel shy, and very likely that 
annoys Aunt. As I get more used to everything I dare 
say we shall get on very well." 

And yet as she said the words she felt that they were 
not true. 

He sighed. 

“ It must be difficult to quarrel with you," he said. “I 
can well believe that, but I know a good deal about Miss 
Eyon. My mother and she were young women together, 
and I cannot believe that hers is a nature likely to make 
those happy with whom she lives. She will wither all 
the joy and sunshine out of your life, child." 

There was a sad note of warning in his voice. 

The girl shivered. This was what she had told herself 
nearly every day since her arrival at Eyon Court, but she 
struggled not to give up hope ; besides, it seemed 
cowardly to speak against her aunt. 

“It seems to me," she said sadly, “that poor Aunt's 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


35 

life has been spoiled by something that happened when 
she was young. I dare say you know about it” 

''That is what I mean, but I scarcely think you have 
heard the rights of the story, Marjorie : if your aunt was 
hardly used, she was bitterly cruel and revengeful. I be- 
lieve you only know her version of what happened. 

Marjorie felt interested. 

"I know nothing directly from Aunt Louisa; my 
mother said that Aunt was engaged to marry a man she 
loved, and that all at once, without any good reason, her 
brother. Uncle John I mean, broke off the match. I be- 
lieve she did not forgive him — but I don’t wonder,'" — the 
girl said impetuously, and then the color came timidly 
into her cheeks, as she remembered that the subject was 
uncomfortable. 

It was too late — Sir George had seen her deep blush 
and her confusion only confirmed the meaning he read 
in it ; he fancied she had some attachment, and this gave 
a death-blow to his own hope of winning the bright sweet 
girl. For a moment he was inclined to turn away and 
leave her, to spare himself the misery of learning that she 
had given her love to some one else. 

" I believe — I wish you would tell me all you know of 
this story," she said, while he hesitated "I don't mind 
telling you — though I would not tell any one else — that 
my great trouble is Aunt Louisa herself. I cannot make 
her out ; she is a sort of sphinx, and so I never know 
what will please her. Most old women like to be kissed, 
for instance, but she does not, and I believe that helps to 
make me feel lonely — 


3 ^ 


MISS EYON OF ETON COVET. 


‘‘ Does it ? '' He gave her a fond look, and it seemed 
to warm her heart She had been pining for affection, 
poor child. 

‘‘Do tell me the story,'' she said, in a happier tone ; 
“ it may help me to understand her." 

Sir George gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. “ Well, I 
have heard the story told more than once, and as it does 
not vary, I suppose the facts are to be relied on. Miss 
Eyon, as you say, was engaged to this Captain Delmer, 
and it is said that both his and her relations had consented 
to the marriage. He was a wild, dashing young fellow, 
and people wondered at his choice, for Miss Eyon had 
been brought up very strictly, and was never allowed to 
dance or to mix in society. Your great-uncle's wife, Mrs. 
John Eyon was a Puritan, very plain and awkward look- 
ing, with strict ideas on the subject of young men and 
young women. However, your Aunt being a decided 
beauty, Delmer had heard of her, I fancy, and somehow 
he managed to get acquainted with her, and they were 
engaged. He seems to have been desperately fond of her, 
and to have had a strong dislike to Mrs. John Eyon, who 
would never let him see his betrothed except in her 
presence. The day was fixed for the marriage, and then 
Mrs. John Eyon fell very ill and the wedding was put off- 
Mrs. Eyon died and then came the catastrophe. Your 
great-uncle learned that the failure of a bank and the ex- 
plosion of a mine, in both of which Captain Delmer s 
property was invested, had left the young fellow with 
about a hundred a year to live on. It seems that Mr. 
Eyon knew of these disasters as soon as Delmer did, 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


37 

and that he wrote at once to the captain to break off the 
match, and to forbid his visits to Eyon Court. Some 
people said that Delmer was already a ruined man when 
he met your Aunt, that the money lost by the bank failure 
would not have paid half of his liabilities, and Mr. John 
Eyon seems to have believed this report. He certainly 
did not hesitate : he sent for his sister and told her what 
he had done, and that she must make up her mind to 
forget Captain Delmer. Mr. John Eyon's temper was at 
that time quite as haughty and stubborn as his sister's 
was. " 

‘‘How wicked," Marjorie said. 

“ Yes, but my dear Marjorie, do you know that the 
family was proud of this temper, which seems to have 
caused a good deal of unhappiness among them. Well, 
Miss Eyon naturally enough refused to listen to her 
brother. She said she would marry Captain Delmer and 
no one else, and that she preferred to starve with him 
rather than to live without him, besides, she said she 
knew she had enough for both." 

Her brother would not listen to her. He sternly told 
her that her income was not sufficient, no Eyon had ever 
been poor, and that poverty was a disgrace ; and he re- 
minded her that at her death her property would go back 
to the Eyons to be divided between your grandfather, 
who was then unmarried, two other brothers, dead since 
then, and Mr. John Eyon. Captain Delmer would not 
have had so much as a life interest in it, he told her. She 
would not now find him as eager for the marriage as she 
fancied : he would prefer to find as rich a girl as herself 


38 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 

whose money was not tied up by such vexatious clauses. 

‘‘ At this Miss Eyon seems to have fallen into a strange 
and ungovernable rage. She raved, she would not listen 
to another word, and as he feared she would run away 
to her lover, her brother placed her in a barred room, 
which I have heard still exists at Eyon Court.'' 

Marjorie nodded, but she looked very grave. 

Her brother told her that she must stay there till she 
was reasonable. She did not have to stay there long. 
John Eyon had allowed her to write to Captain Delmer, 
and her lover wrote in answer freeing her from her en- 
gagement ; he told her that he had left the army, that he 
was going to South America and that she must forget him. 
My mother said it was after receiving this letter that your 
Aunt took her memorable resolution. Her brother came, 
unlocked the door of her prison and offered to shake 
hands in token of reconciliation. But she flung his 
hand sternly away. 

Bear witness," said she to a servant who stood by, 
‘ I take a solemn vow that willingly I will never again 
look on yon man, John Eyon. I will dwell apart and 
feel apart. Neither in love nor in hate shall he hear 
word of mine again.'" 

How awful," Marjorie said, in a low voice. 

Ah, yes, it was very bad," Sir George answered 
gravely ; ‘‘but the worst is to come. For more than 30 
years this brother and sister went on living apart under 
the same roof. When John Eyon lay dying he sent for 
his sister. He wished to be reconciled. The man was 
past sixty, and he and your Aunt were the last of the 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 


39 

brothers and sisters who had been born at Eyon Court. 
It was only human that he should seek to be reconciled 
before he died. She came to his room, a faded, middle- 
aged woman, and stood at the foot of his bed, and the 
dying man asked her to kiss him. She did not answer, 
but stood there proud and calm, looking at him, they say 
— for this scene had several witnesses — as if he were some 
curious spectacle.’' 

know that look," Marjorie said, with a shiver. 

Sir George looked anxiously at her. 

'‘Well, the poor man asked her to forgive him over 
and over again, but she stood like a statue till the Doctor, 
who had come in, interfered. 

" 'You are murdering your brother, madam,' he said, 
and at this she turned and walked away as calmly as she 
had come. It seems, when all was over, that the lawyer 
ventured to ask her why she had been so hard, and he 
told my mother that she expressed her surprise that any- 
one could wish or expect her to break a solemn oath — 
you see, by her brother’s death she was mistress of Eyon 
Court, and no one dared to take her seriously to task." 

He stopped abruptly and looked at Marjorie's pale 
shocked face. 

"My dear," he said, " even if you don't love me now^ 
can you not be happier at Laleham than you are with 
Miss Eyon 1 Will you not come to me, Marjorie? " 

He pointed to the manor house, which they were now 
very near. 

"Oh!" she cried, impulsively, "how cruel you are. 
I had begun to feel so happy with you — just as I used 


40 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


to — and now you have spoiled it.” She checked herself 
when she saw his sad eyes. Please be my friend, and 
forget all the rest,” she said, gently. 

Forget ! ” he spoke passionately, and then he stopped. 
‘‘Good-bye, my child,” he said. “I will not torment 
you ; but when you are in trouble, send for your old 
friend to help you.” 

He got on his horse and rode away, only waving his 
hand to Marjorie as he left her. 


MR, BROWN, 


41 


CHAPTER IV. 

MR. BROWN. 

Barbara, the taller of the two stout maids, opened the 
door to Marjorie. The woman looked as if she wanted 
to speak, but Marjorie was impatient to get to her room. 
Of late she had had so little to think of, that to-day's ad- 
venture completely absorbed her. She saw, in a dreamy 
way as she went along the passage, that a portmanteau 
stood outside one of the doors in Miss Eyon's gallery, 
but this did not suggest to her that a visitor had come 
to the house. She was too full of her aunt's story and 
of her meeting with Sir George Wolff to care for anything 
else. 

She felt mortified by this second offer from him. She 
began to think that she need not have troubled herself 
about Sir George's disappointment. He had asked her 
to marry him, not so much because he wanted her for a 
wife, as from kindness ; he wanted to give her a home 
and to shield her from Miss Eyon. 

'‘Well, why do I mind," she said ; "it is much better, 
and it shows how good and noble he is." 

But although she felt greatly afraid of her aunt, she 
told herself that it would be very miserable to be married 
from compassion, even by so excellent a man as Sir 
George Wolff. 

The bell rang for luncheon. When Marjorie opened 
the doo*r at the end of the narrow lofty passage she saw 


42 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT. 


a gentleman go into Miss Eyon's study. For a moment 
she wondered whether the Vicar had come to answer his 
note in person ; but no, this stranger looked young, and 
she had seen even in that brief glance that he was tall 
and stylish looking, and she had caught a glimpse of fair 
soft-looking whiskers. Hannah had said the Vicar was 
middle-aged and gray-haired. As she passed she looked 
out for the portmanteau, but it had either been a creation 
of her own fancy, or it had disappeared. Miss Eyon was 
always punctual, but to-day she was absent when Mar- 
jorie reached the dining parlor. The girl stood bending 
over the hearth, and she warmed her chilled fingers while 
she waited. 

In a few minutes Miss Eyon’s private entrance door 
into the dining-room opened, but not in its usual noise- 
less manner, and the tall, fair-haired stranger walked into 
the room. 

Her surprise fluttered Marjorie. She was conscious 
that the new arrival was very handsome and that he 
looked friendly, but she felt too shy to look fully at him. 

He held out his hand and she gave hers mechanically. 
He was not at all embarrassed, and he looked at her with 
admiring eyes. 

''Miss Eyon has asked me to make her excuses and to 
introduce myself,'' he said. 

He smiled very pleasantly, but Marjorie thought he 
was too much at his ease. He seemed actually to be 
doing the honors of the house to her. 

"My name is Brown," he went on, "and I know that 
you are Miss Marjorie Eyon." 


ME, BEOWN, 


43 

‘^Yes;'' then her courage came back. ‘‘I suppose 
we are to begin lunch if my Aunt is not coming. '' 

‘‘By all means; allow me to carve for you/' and he 
placed himself in Miss Eyon's seat at the head of the 
table. 

Marjorie looked and wondered. She usually sat at 
the side and carved for her aunt at luncheon, but to-day 
the dish was placed in front of this visitor. It happened 
to be a pheasant, and Marjorie rejoiced that she had not 
to carve it before a stranger. 

Mr. Brown seemed to be a dexterous carver, and the 
girl noticed that he helped her to the choicest bits. She 
thought he seemed bent on pleasing her. 

“Do you not drink any wine Won't you have any 
wine } " he said, as she refused it. I should have thought 
up in this' cold north it was absolutely necessary to keep 
up circulation." 

“ No, thank you ; you are not a northerner, then 

“ Oh, no ; you must forgive me, but I was going to 
say, thank heaven. I am a Londoner. Do you happen 
ever to have seen London } " 

“ No, but I long to go there. " 

He gave her an approving smile which showed beauti- 
ful teeth under his fair silky mustache. 

‘'You would enjoy it ; let us persuade Miss Eyon to 
take you there next Spring; it would give me great pleas- 
ure to show you about our smoky comfortable village. 
Ah, there’s no place like London, unless it is Paris." 

“ You would never persuade my Aunt to go to Lon- 
don," Marjorie said doubtfully. 


44 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT. 


He laughed. 

Wonders never cease, you know, I see no reason 
why such a thing should not happen.'’ 

He spoke so confidently, so airily, and the girl thought 
he looked so clever, that she found herself considering 
him as a kind of oracle. Just then she met his blue eyes 
fixed on her admiringly, and she thought she had never 
before seen so handsome a face. There was a winning 
expression in it which attracted confidence. Marjorie felt 
quite angry with herself for having said Brown looked 
cruel. He certainly was not greedy; she had seen that 
by the way in which he had helped himself to pheasant. 

You are not like your photograph,” she said. 

He looked delighted. 

Am I not.J^ Well, no, I believe I am younger than it 
makes me, but photographs are a mistake, you know. 
May I venture to hope you wH) not object if I stay a few 
days at Eyon Court. My business with Miss Eyon will 
take that time, but she gave me to understand that if you 
objected to my visit I must go to the Inn.” 

Marjorie laughed heartily. I am not such a dragon; 
on the contrary, I am delighted to have some one to 
speak to. ” 

He bowed. Yes,” he twirled the ends of his mus- 
tache, it must be terribly dull for you, both indoors and 
out, and I don’t think this is quite the country for a young 
lady to take solitary walks in, it is so desperately lonely. 
It would be easy, for instance, for a tramp to make away 
with you, and then hide you in one of those out-of-the- 
way glens. Not a pleasant possibility is it ? ” 


MR. BROWN. 


45 


Marjorie shuddered. 

‘‘I had not thought of such a possibility. You 
should not frighten me/’ she said. ‘^What can I do ? 
unless I walk alone here. I must remain shut up forever.” 

That would never do,” he said kindly. You would 
lose all your roses ; that would be terrible. Why should 
we not get as many walks as possible while I am here ? 
Shall we begin this afternoon ? ” 

Marjorie was delighted, and she felt grateful. This idea 
of escape from the dulness of Eyon Court gave her new 
life. 

'' Thank you, ever so much,” she said. You can’t 
think how I hate being so shut up. I had not been out 
for two whole days till this morning.” 

How very amusing. I don’t wonder that you consider 
me a pleasant change.” 

He gave her a smile so full of sympathy that Marjorie’s 
heart beat fast with happiness ; here at last was some one 
who understood and entered into her feelings. 

I will wait for you here, then,” Mr. Brown said, and 
she ran away to get her hat. 

I am really out of the cage now,” the girl thought. 

I am sure he is kind, and I fancy he has influence with 
Aunt Louisa. ” 

Mr. Brown continued to twirl his mustache. '' By 
Jove,” he said, ‘^she is a taking little thing, better in all 
ways than I expected. What did the old girl mean by 
saying that she was ^passable ? ’ I call her ‘ pretty,’ very 
pretty, piquant toQ when she gets animated ; passable in- 
deed ! " 


46 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


There was a slight sound, and he turned, with a look of 
alarm in his face. 

Hannah had just come in by the door leading to Miss 
Eyon's rooms. 

If you please, sir, my mistress wishes to see you be- 
fore you go out. 

He felt annoyed, and he showed it. 

Look here, Hannah, he said, ^^go to Miss Marjorie 
and ask her to be kind enough to wait for me. Please say 
I am very sorry to detain her, but I shall not be long 
with your mistress.'' 

Hannah looked after him as he closed behind him the 
door by which she had come. 

‘‘You cannot be sure o' that young man," she said. 
“You are very masterful, but you have to learn that two 
can play at that game. " 

She went slowly along the galleries to Marjorie's room. 

“ Wiv a young lass," she said, “ 'tis t' change for 
change's sake that cheers her, nobbut ah would nut hev 
thowt of Miss Marjorie settin' store by sic coompany.' " 


MR, BROWN RECEIVES ORDERS. 


47 


CHAPTER V. 

MR. BROWN RECEIVES ORDERS. 

Miss Eyon was sitting before her desk, as stiff and pale 
as she had looked on Marjorie's first introduction to her. 
Even Mr. Brown, who had, as he would have said, ‘‘No 
nerves to speak of, felt subdued when he met the direct 
searching blue eyes fixed on his face. He had hurried 
impatiently through the rooms, telling himself that it was 
intolerable to be called back from his prospect of enjoy- 
ment, and that he should tell Miss Eyon that the inter- 
ruption had vexed him ; but when he stood before her, 
the strange all-seeing gaze which cowed Marjorie chained 
even his tongue. He stood silent, waiting till the old 
woman spoke. 

“ I will not keep you long ; " he thought she sneered. 

‘ I hear you are going out walking, but before you go I 
wish to know, Richard Brown, what you think of my 
niece. " 

“ She is quite charming," he said quickly, and then her 
frown showed him that he had made a mistake. 

“I don't mean," he went on, “that she is remarkably 
handsome, and so on, but she is very bright and pleasant." 

“Bright, is she?" Miss Eyon sate thinking. “She 
is not usually bright, " she added suspiciously, ‘ ‘ and she is 
very shy. It is possible," she gave him a mocking look, 
“that Marjorie met an old sweetheart while she was out 


48 


3nSS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


this morning. I understand she was away much longer 
than was necessary./' 

‘‘A sweetheart How could that be.?" he said, 
angrily. You led me to suppose she was a raw girl, 
fresh from school." 

‘‘ So she is ; but I should have thought you knew that 
the fit period of love-making is a question of tempera- 
ment and opportunity. I fancy school-girls are apt to be- 
gin the occupation early." 

‘‘You might have told me sooner about this." He 
spoke impatiently, but he seemed to have forgotten his 
hurry to get back to Marjorie. He seated himself near 
Miss Eyon. “Do you know who the man is that the girl 
cares for ? " 

Miss Eyon put up her glasses and looked curiously at him. 

“You seem interested ; I wonder why," she said, and 
then seeing that he looked sullen, she softened a little. 
“ You mistake me. I said the girl had a sweetheart, but 
I did not say she cared for him. Sir George Wolff, a 
landholder not very far off, a rich man too, asked her to 
marry him before she came here, but she refused him." 

“If this is so, why should the sight of him cheer her in 
the way you suggested?" 

Miss Eyon shrugged her shoulders and laughed. 

“Fqr a man past thirty, who has spent his life in Lon- 
don, that is a strange question. Have you not learned 
that what a young girl most dislikes and rebels against is 
dulness and restraint ? She will do anything, anything 
to vary such a life." 

There was so much vehemence in her tone that Mr. 


MB. BROWN RECEIVES ORDERS. 


49 


Brown looked up suddenly. He had been contemplating 
his own beautiful finger nails, but he forgot all about 
them in wonder, for he saw a gleam of passion in Miss 
Eyon's stern blue eyes. 

‘'You think then that if your niece met this worthy 
baronet — I take it for granted, you see, that a rich land- 
holder must be worthy — she would take back her refusal 
for the sake of change — of escaping in fact from Eyon 
Court. Well then, if this has happened, why did you ask 
me to come up here at such a time of the year,” he said, 
sulkily. 

Miss Eyon had stiffened into her old attitude. She 
was angry with herself for having betrayed emotion, and 
her voice was even colder than ever as she answered him : 

‘ I did not say the child had met Sir George Wolff. I 
see that such a meeting is possible; but even if this 
should happen, Marjorie cannot marry until she is of 
age without my consent. I do not mean her to marry 
Sir George Wolff.” 

She said the last words as if she shut the door on any 
such hope, and then she sat silent. 

Mr. Brown looked hard at her, but her face was al- 
together expressionless. At last he said: “May I ask 
why you have now sent for me 1 ' 

“I have told you, I wished to learn how Marjorie 
had impressed you. Now that I know,” she said very 
slowly, “I wish to give you a caution. You are going 
out for a walk with her, and you are like other men with 
a woman, I suppose ; fire and flame to get what they 
wish ; smoke and cold ashes when they have got it. 


50 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


Marjorie, I see, has excited you. I tell you not to let 
her see that you are excited ; please her as much as you 
can, win her confidence, but let her think only that you 
are kind and friendly ; she is an Eyon, remember, and 
she may have the will of the Eyons ; if you set that up 
against your wishes, even I may not be able to influence 
her.^^ 

He rose up and took one of her hands ; they were 
withered, but they were delicate, like bits of blue-veined 
ivory. 

''You can do anything you choose; besides, you 
have promised me.'' She bent her head, and then he 
loosed her hand. "Your instructions are, then, that I 
am to keep clear of love-making for the present. " 

"Yes." 

She pointed to the door, and leaned back as if she were 
tired. 

Mr. Brown nodded, but as he went back to Marjorie he 
whistled very cheerfully. 

It did not seem to him that it could be difficult to win 
the confidence of a young inexperienced girl, and he 
thought that on the whole he was glad to know of that 
episode about Sir George Wolff — the knowledge would 
help him to give Marjorie an opportunity to confide in 
him. 

"Miss Marjorie is waiting for you in the hall," Hannah 
said when he came into the dining-room, and then she 
went away. 

Mr. Brown had a careless manner, but he was very ob- 
servant. He remarked that the woman seemed to give 


ME, BEOWN EECEIVES OEDEES 


51 

the message against her will, and she left the room as if 
she wished to avoid questions. 

'‘Poor old Hannah/' he said, “I wonder what Pve 
done to offend her ; she’s usually civil enough to 
me.” 

Since the evening of her arrival at Eyon Court, Marjorie 
had not been able to wear any of the new articles of dress 
she had provided. To-day seemed an opportunity, and 
she had put on a large black hat with drooping black 
feathers, which suited her delicate complexion. 

She looked up at Mr. Brown as he appeared on the 
landing, and he thought her bewitching. 

“There is no need to ask whether the air of Eyon Court 
agrees with you,” he said when he joined her. “You 
sparkle with health.” 

“You would not have said so yesterday; my walk 
this morning did me ever so much good.” 

“I wonder if Miss Eyon is right in her suspicion,” he 
thought; “but I must wait a little; a direct question 
would put Marjorie on her guard.” 

“ Have you been this way, I wonder,” he nodded down 
the valley in the direction of the village. 

“No, only on my way here, as we came up a bit of 
Yoredale.” 

“Yes, but you could not drive where I propose to take 
you. Shall we go ? ” 

“Yes, please, I should like it.” 

As they went through the village, Mr. Luke White 
looked through the shop window. 

“Eh,” he said to his wife, “t’lass will not bide lang 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT. 


52 

at t’ Court. More than likely thaaf s a sweetheart wi’ her. 
It’s young Brown ! 

‘‘Eh, my sakes !” Mrs. White’s broad, rosy face was 
full of contemptuous amusement; “f young man he 
may want it, nubbut it donnut follow at t’ lass is willin’ ; 
t’ apples donnut fall to t’ first that shakes t’ bough ; nay, 
nay, Luke, you wud mak believe ony man can hev t’ lass 
he fancies. Nay ! ” 

But in spite of her scorn, Mrs. White hastened to an 
upper window and watched the young couple till they 
had passed through the village and were out of sight — 
along the path cut on the steep hill-side. 

Marjorie was so happy that she walked along prattling 
like a child about the beauty of the scenery and the 
delicious air which met them as they followed the path 
high above the dashing river, yet screened from the wind 
by a border of tall trees. The trees were splendid in their 
gold and russet foliage that went down clothing the bank 
almost to the water’s edge. The morning mist had 
cleared, and across the river every now and then came 
peeps of distant hills ; and all at once appeared, cradled 
among the soft-tinted gray rocks, a grand baronial 
castle. 

“Oh ! how beautiful,” the girl exclaimed, “ I wish we 
could cross the water and get close to it. Can we ? ” 

She looked up brightly at her companion. 

“It is further off than it seems. We could not get 
there and back by daylight, and when you get to it it is 
only a ruin, a tumble-down place full of bats and owls.” 

Maijorie felt disappointed at his want of enthusiasm. 


MB. BROWN BECEIVES OB DEBS. 


53 


I like ruins/' she said, ‘‘don't you ? " 

He laughed at her look of entreaty. 

“Well, no ; unless they are in pictures. I like every- 
thing to be bright and fresh and young — a ruin is like an 
old woman, full of suggestions of what has been, but 
also full of signs of decay. No,'^ he gave her an admir- 
ing look, “ give me youth. " 

Marjorie laughed. 

“According to that, if you marry, you will dislike 
your wife when she gets old. That will be very unfair, 
I think. 

He seemed amused. 

“No, that would be a risk, she might return the com- 
pliment ; I too should be no longer as young as when I 
married ; but you know there are women who have the 
charm of perpetual youth ; they are always gay and full 
of sunshine. You will be like that, do you know — it is 
an enviable faculty." 

“How can you tell, " she said shyly, she had a dim 
consciousness that his intimate tone had come too 
quickly, “ you have known me such a short time." 

“ I will tell you how I know," he said very confidently. 
“There are persons whose faces maybe read like a 
book — truth and innocence can seldom be successfully 
imitated by a young girl ; it takes a good many years to 
acquire that art. " 

Marjorie walked on, thinking over his words. She 
liked this sort of talk, for he had spoken seriously, and 
not as if he were paying a compliment. She could not 
help applying his words to Sir George Wolff. 


54 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT. 


‘‘That candid look does not belong only to young girls.'' 
She looked straight before her, she could not have said 
why, but she did not choose to meet her companion s 
eyes while she spoke. “I have seen it in another per- 
son's face." 

Mjt. Brown was watching her attentively. “Ah!" 
he said, carelessly, “ I dare say you are right ; one sees 
it, for instance, in women who live in retirement, and who 
have never mixed with the world." 

“I was not thinking of a woman. I know a middle- 
aged man who shows his feelings and his meaning, too, 
in his face. I am sure he is candid." 

“He must be a very remarkable person," Mr. Brown 
sighed ostentatiously. “ He is a friend of yours } " 

“Yes. I have known him ever since I was a child." 

“Then perhaps you are not a good judge. A child 
cannot judge of facial expression, and a child is easily 
cajoled ; besides, if it takes a liking it often blindly clings 
to its first idea, and never sees the flaws that every one 
else can see in its idol. I have known a case where this 
childish infatuation led to a most unhappy marriage." 

He spoke very earnestly, his vexation made him forget 
his resolution to seem indifferent. 

Marjorie laughed. 

“In the case I am thinking of your reasoning would 
be all wrong. friend is universally loved and looked 

up to — and yet I don't think a girl would fall in love with 
him." 

“Perhaps not; but—" he looked full into her dark 
blue eyes, raised to his — “ she might marry him because 


MR. BROWN RECEIVES ORDERS. 


55 

every one else loved and looked up to him, don't you 
see? That is just what the girl I am thinking of did, 
poor little trusting soul." 

He gave another deep sigh. 

Marjorie felt very pitiful. 

9 

‘‘Were you" — she began, mean, was she a great 
friend of yours ? " 

She thought the poor fellow was in love. 

‘‘ I liked her, that was all ; but I can't bear to see such 
a mistake as a marriage between a young girl and a man 
double her age, it's a fatal mistake. There can be no 
lasting sympathy between them. She, poor child, has 
lived always in her home-nest ; and she wants, of course, 
to peep over the edge and take her fair share of the pleas- 
ures and amusements that belong to her age. Her 
husband has seen and done everything ; all he cares for 
now is to hunt and shoot when he is in the country, and 
when he is in town to read the papers and talk politics 
and scandal at his club. He has had as much dancing 
as he cares for, and he now finds it a bore to take his 
girl-wife out to dances and so on." 

He watched Marjorie's face and he saw that she was 
thinking over his words. 

Presently she said, in the unexpected way he liked so 
much in her : 

It would be a bore about the dancing; but don't you 
think," — she looked at him appealingly — ‘‘that middle- 
aged men do sometimes like dancing ? " 

“That depends so much on what is meant by middle- 
aged. A man of forty m^y be very fond of dancing in 


56 MISS EYON OF EYON COURT, 

theory, but he may be a martyr to gout in his feet. You 
care for dancing, then ? 

‘‘I ! — Maijorie turned to him with sparkling eyes — 
‘‘I love it. Why, even at Eyon Court, one very rainy 
day, I danced alone up and down the passage outside 
my room. It was better than nothing, you know.'' 

She shook her head and smiled at him. 

‘‘Yes, that is what I said just now. You will do the 
same in thirty years time. You will dance and smile 
though your troubles till they will not know how to take 
hold of you. You are the last person who should be 
shut up in gloomy old Eyon Court, and yet it seems to me 
you bear the dulness bravely." 

He shrugged his shoulders, and turned into a path that 
curved upwards, so leading them homewards on a higher 
level than that by which they had come. 

Marjorie could not answer her companion, for she 
was busy clambering over a moss-covered boulder that 
lay just in the track. Mr. Brown held out his hand, but 
she disdained help. When she raised her head, bent in 
the disentanglement of long briar arms from her skirt, 
she looked so bright aild flower-like that he felt his pulses 
beat more quickly as he looked at her. 

“ Do you know," she said, “that you are quite wrong. 
I have not been at all brave — I have actually been cow- 
ard enough to cry more than once in my bedroom. 
Sometimes I can hardly bear the dulness." 

“ Poor little girl," Marjorie colored and winced, but 
he went on, “No, it is not a fit place for you. Miss 
Eyon is an old friend of mine, and a very good friend, 


MR. BROWN RECEIVES ORDERS. 


S7 


but for all that I must say she cannot be a lively com- 
panion. My wonder is that you consented to come to 
such a place.'' 

'' Well, but I could not help it," she looked up with 
surprise, ‘‘Aunt Louisa is my guardian, so I had to 
come. Besides," she said slowly, “ do you know, I was 
curious." 

“ Curious to see your guardian, eh ?" 

“ Well, just a little, but I was much more curious to 
see the house. One of my schoolfellows stayed two 
years at Askrigg, and she heard the strangest stories 
about Eyon Court. I suppose I did not realize that I 
should have to live there always till I saw how gloomy 
it was." She sighed, and he thought there were tears in 
her eyes. 

“ I say, this can’t go on, you know," he said, impul- 
sively. “ I have some influence with Miss Eyon. I have 
known her for years past. Is there anything you would 
like altered ? I dare say now you would like a smart girl 
to wait on you, instead of that dismal old Hannah." 

“ Hannah is a dear old woman, I love her; she is not 
dismal, I can tell you, when she is alone with me." 

‘ ‘ But a young maid could take walks with you ; by J o ve, 
it is horrible to think of you cooped up alone with those 
two old women. I don't suppose you ever see any one 
you can speak to," he added carelessly. 

Marjorie hesitated. 

“ Don't tell Miss Eyon," she said pleadingly, “ because 
she might fancy things, but I did see an old friend this 
morning on the moor." 


58 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


‘‘ Indeed,” he said slowly. ‘‘ And that made you feel 
brighter, eh,” he laughed. “You don’t know how crest- 
fallen I feel. I hoped it was my companionship that had 
helped you a little and that you would care for a walk 
with me, and now I find that I have only come in as 
second fiddle, have in fact bored you — you would have 
preferred to be left alone with the pleasant thoughts your 
old friend gave you. ” 

He looked so disconcerted that Marjorie was eager to 
reassure him. 

“ How can you say such things. I was delighted to 
come out with you ; it is the first time I have been taken 
for a walk since I left Selby. I met Sir George Wolff by 
accident, and I do not think I am likely to meet him 
again. ” 

“ May I ask why .?” he said, gently. Majorie's face 
had grown pensive. 

“I like to be frank,” she said, “especially to people 
who are frank with me,” she gave him a grateful glance, 
“ but I cannot exactly say why I think I shall not see 
him again. ” There was a touch of regret in her voice, 
and Mr. Brown noticed it. “One reason, though, is 
because he said that my aunt would not like him to call 
at Eyon Court, and he is not a man who would care to 
meet me- without Aunt Louisa’s knowledge.” 

“Then I don’t call him a true friend. If I thought I 
could help you out of any trouble, I would run any risk 
of Miss Eyon’s anger over and over again ; but I am 
afraid this talk is as dull as Eyon Court is. Never mind. 
I shall find some way of amusing you ; you shall not be 


MR. BROWN RECEIVES ORDERS. 


59 


left long in that gloomy house. How would it be this 
evening if we tried a little dance '' 

Majorie s eyes shone with delight as she looked up 
under the shadow of her hat. 

‘‘It would be ever so nice/' she said, “but dare 
we V 

“ Yes, we dare." He nodded so confidently that she 
took courage. “Unless you are afraid of a dobie, as they 
call the ghosts, we can go upstairs. No one can hear us 
in those old disused rooms. " 

“ You mean the old drawing-room 
“ Well, yes, but the library is snugger and farther from 
the staircase ; we shall be safe there. Shall I wait for you 
in the library after tea " 

“All right." 

Marjorie walked home gayly. This would be a little 
adventure, and the risk of being found out and scolded 
by Hannah gave it a sort of special relish. 

“ I do believe it's naughty, " she thought as she ran up 
to her room, “Well, I should soou become sly if I lived 
long at Eyon Court." 


6o 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT. 


CHAPTER VL^ 

A WALTZ. 

Daylight had faded long ago, and only a weak gleam 
fell across the darkness from a solitary candle which Mr. 
Brown had struck into one of the tarnished sconces. At 
first sight the long close-smelling library looked deserted, 
but a rustle and then a merry laugh came from a dark 
corner, and Majorie and her partner waltzed rapidly in- 
to the faint light. 

I must stop, please,'' she panted ; 'Tm out of breath. 
I think the dust chokes one." 

He stood still as she spoke, but he kept his arm round 
her waist as if he wanted to begin again. 

^'Yes, we have literally kicked up a dust, but the dust 
proves I was right in saying that no one comes near 
these old rooms. I believe the servants dare not venture 
here in the dusk ; the dobie-room is next to this, you 
know, it was your uncle's bedroom." 

She shivered. She had just moved a little away from 
her partner, but at this she shrank near him again. ‘^Do 
you mean a ghost } " she whispered. He was sorry to 
reassure her, it was so delicious to feel that she trusted 
and clung to his protection, but he remembered that ter- 
ror sometimes caused a girl to scream inopportunely. 

‘‘That's all nonsense, you know. I believe your 
uncle, Mr. John Eyon, died in the room beyond this one ; 


A IFALTZ, 


6i 

there was some disagreement between Miss Eyon and 
her brother, and she had all these rooms shut up after his 
death. Naturally the dobie story has grown out of that,'' 
He bent down over her and whispered, Do you know 
you looked awfully pretty when you were frightened just 
now. 

^‘Please let me go," said Marjorie abruptly, ^^and I 
don't like compliments." 

He took his arm away from her waist, not so much 
because of Marjorie's request, but it seemed to him there 
was a faint sound neai the disused drawing-room. 

'' Hush," he whispered. 

Marjorie had also heard the sound, and she was trem- 
bling, almost paralyzed with fear. Her hair seemed to 
rise on her forehead. 

'‘Is any one there? " The voice sounded hoarse and 
strange. "Is it you, Miss Marjorie? What are you 
doing there ? " 

" It is Hannah," the girl said, taking the candle between 
her fingers, she went forward. 

" Why, Hannah," she held up the candle, "you are as 
white as death. How frightened you look ! Did you 
think we were ghosts ? " she said, softly, as she pinched 
the old woman's pale chin. 

" We ? " Hannah exclaimed. " Who may you hev with 
you, ma'am ? " 

Mr. Brown laughed. "Only me, Hannah. Your 
young lady and I have been trying a dance in the old 
library, but it's awfully dusty work. A good many years, 
I'll bet, since anything so lively happened here." 


62 


MISS EYON OF EYON COURT. 


My mercy ! she said. How could ye venture it ? 
T’lass knawed nowt aboot it ; nobbut you, sir, must hev 
heeard tell o’ things at sud make f place respected from 
such frolics/' 

She stretched out her long arm and took the candle 
from Marjorie. 

‘^Come to your room, I’ll show ye the light, ma'am," 
she said, and the girl followed her, 

Mr. Brown came up to Marjorie and whispered : 

‘‘ Don't go, why do you knock under ; the way to get 
on at Eyon Court is to resist tyranny. " 

But Marjorie's eyes had suddenly opened to her own 
imprudence, and she was glad that the light was too dim 
to show her flaming cheeks ; something whispered that 
she had been giddy, that Mr. Brown would not have been 
so free with her if she had been more guarded with him. 
She wondered whether Sir George Wolff would have 
asked a stranger to waltz with him in a lonely room. 
Instead of answering Mr. Brown, she hurried on and 
placed herself beside Hannah, while her cheeks burned 
yet more hotly. 

When she reached the door leading into her special 
passage, Marjorie said: 

^‘That will do, thank you, Hannah ; I can see my way 
now, the lamp outside my door is sure to be lit." 

Hannah looked over her shoulder, and she saw that Mr. 
Brown had not followed them. 

As you please, ma'am," she said coldly, and opening 
the door for Marjorie, she closed it behind her. 

The girl was greatly relieved ; she had expected a lec- 


A TTALTZ. 63 

ture, and she knew she should have rebelled against it, 
and have answered saucily. 

‘^Old women are always cross to girls about men," 
she said, when she had reached her room and had 
drawn a low chair cosily in front of the fire. After all, 
it is only quite natural that a young man and a girl alone 
in a dull house should like one another’s company, and 
amuse themselves." She sat, looking into the blazing 
logs. Perhaps it would have been better if we had had 
our waltz in the parlor, as Miss Eyon calls it ; then Han- 
nah would not have ventured to look glum. After all I 
really think I am too old to be interfered with. She 
marched me off to my room just as if I were a naughty 
child." 

The uncomfortable feeling soon came back, and her 
cheeks grew hot as the fire itself. On the whole, she was 
glad that Hannah had been interfering and a busy- 
body. 

What had made such a sudden change in Mr. Brown’s 
manner, she wondered. Could he have taken a fancy to 
her. Oh, no ; he had known her only a few hours. 
Ought she to like it or to dislike it. He might have an 
impulsive nature, and she had heard that some people 
fall in love at first sight ; if this were his case he could not 
help it, and she had no right to be vexed with him. 

''What a strange thing Love must be," she thought, 
shyly; wonder if I shall ever feel it. I wonder if 
there is much difference between liking and loving." 

Hannah usually came and helped her dress, and this 
evening Marjorie wanted help, for she had decided to 


64 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


wear the dainty evening gown in which she had made 
her first appearance, instead of the ordinary high-necked 
frock she always put on for dinner with her aunt. 

The girl waited until she feared to be too late, and then 
she struggled into her gown and managed to fasten it her- 
self, although this was not easy. She had gathered some 
exquisitely-tinted blackberry leaves in her afternoon’s 
ramble, and she grouped these into a brilliant knot at one 
side of the square-cut bodice 

She held up a spray of leaves against her rich brown 
hair. 

would put them in if it were not for Aunt Louisa. 
She might say I was too smart, and I do love peace, and 
if she looked glum I could not eat any dinner, and that 
would never do. Between the walk and the waltzing I 
am as hungry as possible.” 

In her far-off room the dinner bell was not heard. 
Hannah usually set the door ajar, but Marjorie, left to 
herself, had not thought of it. 

Suddenly she looked at her watch, and found that she 
must be some minutes behind time. 

She flew along the passage, and was pale with fear by 
the time she reached the dining-room. 

Miss Eyon and Mr. Brown were both seated at table, 
am very sorry, Aunt,” the girl began, and then 
stopped ; her tongue felt stiffened by the sight of Miss 
Eyon. She sat very erect and she was so pale that she 
looked gray, but her eyes were keener than ever as she 
fixed them on Marjorie’s gown. 

You need not make excuses,” Miss Eyon said in the 


A IFALTZ. 65 

tone that Marjorie dreaded. '' I see what has made you 
keep us waiting. Mr. Brown will readily excuse you, for 
this extra adornment is doubtless intended for him ; you 
do not honor me with it when I am alone. ’' 

She spoke in a low tone and the servants at the farther 
end of the long room could not hear what she said. They 
could, however, see the deep red flush that spread over 
Marjorie's face and the conscious shame of the girl's atti- 
tude. 

Mr. Brown smiled at her and at Miss Eyon. 

expect that soft cream color must have suited you 
admirably," he said coolly. believe it would always 
suit such a complexion as yours. Miss Eyon. Did they 
wear that color when you were a girl ? " 

Miss Eyon was aware that he meant to soothe her, and 
it pleased her that he should try to do this : but, for all 
that, she would not spare Marjorie. 

'^Do you fancy there is anything new under the sun ?" 
she said. '‘I have gowns put away somewhere, of my 
mother's, of just that color and appearance, but they were 
ball gowns, and were only worn on suitable occasions," 
she said with emphasis. 

Mr. Brown was vexed by her bitter tone. He kept 
silent for some time, and then he asked Marjorie if she 
had seen the Falls of Aysgarth, higher up the valley. 

Miss Eyon's rudeness had helped to restore the girl's 
courage. She was still flushed, but she had raised her 
head, and she no longer looked ashamed. 

'‘No ; " she smiled at Mr. Brown. She felt determined 
to show her aunt that she would not submit to rudeness. 


66 MISS EYON OF ETON COURT, 

‘‘I should like to see the Falls. Will you take me there 
to-morrow } '' 

‘'I shall be delighted/' he said ; but he did not look as 
much pleased as Marjorie expected, and his eyes went 
back at once to Miss Eyon. 

Miss Eyon looked from one to the other, her own face 
was without expression. 

‘‘After breakfast, then } ” Marjorie asked. 

He only nodded in answer, and the girl felt piqued. 
She was conscious that her aunt might say that she had 
sought Mr. Brown while she had only tried to seem at ease. 

Mr. Brown, however, appeared heedless of her good 
opinion ; he had plunged deeply into an agricultural 
question connected with one of Miss Eyon's farms. He 
took no more notice of Marjorie, and during the rest of 
dinner she had perforce to keep silence. 

She felt surprised and disappointed in Mr. Brown. It 
seemed to her sly and ignoble to treat her with indiffer- 
ence before her aunt and yet to be almost lover-like when 
they were alone. She made a little resolve that she 
would reverse this order of things. To-morrow when 
they went to see the Falls, she would show Mr. Brown 
that she too could be indifferent when it suited her. 

At last Miss Eyon rose from table. 

“ Give me your arm as far as the study," she said to 
the young fellow. “You, Marjorie, will be glad to go 
to bed early after so much fatigue, so I don't ask you to 
join me this evening. Good night." 

She smiled as she went out, leaning on Mr. Brown's 


arm. 


A IFALTZ, 67 

Marjorie had risen to follow them. She stood still for 
a moment, stupefied with surprise. 

How horrid ! ” she said. She is more unkind than 
I thought she could be, it is not possible to love such an 
unfeeling woman. She must think I am an insect, or 
does not she care about wounding any one. I shall not 
go to' bed — though I shall go to my room. She might 
come back here, and then she would say I waited to see 
Mr. Brown again. Oh, she is disagreeable.'' 

When she reached her room the girl began to cry. Her 
mortification had almost choked her, and tears brought 
relief with them, her unusual bitterness softened, and she 
began to excuse her aunt's unkindness on the ground of 
her early trial. To see two young people happy together 
Marjorie argued must make a person miserable who had 
suffered as her Aunt Louisa had. 

Marjorie's gown fastened behind, and as she unlaced it, 
a knot came in the lace and stopped further progress. 
Much against her inclination she was compelled to ring 
for Hannah. 

‘‘Now for a lecture," the girl said, when her door 
opened. 

Hannah looked sad, rather than cross, and at first she 
was too intent on the knot even to speak. Her silence 
irritated Marjorie's ruffled temper. 

“Why don't you begin to scold, you dear old thing," 
she said when a sudden release told her that she was 
once more free. 

“ I cannot do two things at once, ma'am," Hannah 
went on unlacing, so that the girl could not see her face. 


68 


MISS ETON OF EYON COURT. 


Nobbut it is not f words that Ah says as signify. Tis 
something sadder,” she added solemnly. 

Marjorie turned so suddenly at this awe-struck tone that 
she wrenched the lace from the old woman's fingers. 

There was nothing sad in a waltz Hannah, it was 
such a good one, it warmed me and made me feel happy, 
till you came creeping in like a — what is this you call it 
— dobie. ” 

Hannah tried to stop her words. “ Eh, but hush, hush, 
ma'am, t' walls may carry sounds, who knows.” She 
looked fearfully round her. ^‘Miss Marjorie, in a house 
where unlove has gone on from year to year, cherished 
like as it were a friend, maybe the evil nivver dies, and 
who can say what shape it may take, what woe it may 
work. Miss Marjorie, ma'am. Ah hev heerd say best let 
t'deead rest, nobbut a mon that dees unforgiven cannut 
rest ; an it is ill done to trespass where his poor soul may 
be seeking pardon wandering — ” She checked herself at 
the sight of the girl's awestruck face. Marjorie’s eyes 
were large with sudden dread, but she tried to smile. 

^‘Is that all? Oh, I thought your shockedness was 
about something else ; about me, you know. Well, 
I'll not go near the library again — even for another 
waltz. ” 

Hannah went on folding and smoothing when she had 
helped Marjorie on with her dressing-gown, but she did 
not speak again till she had finished her work. 

‘'Good night, ma'am,” she said, and she turned to go 
away. 

Marjorie felt strangely unwilling to be left alone. 


A JFALTZ, 69 

Can't you stay with me a bit, Hannah ? I'm not go- 
ing to bed yet." 

“Ah mun be on t'listen for t'mistress's bell," said Han- 
nah, resolutely, and she went 

Marjorie took a book and seated herself beside the fire. 
She could not sit in front of it, that position left an area 
of space behind her which — well — which she could fill 
with uncomfortable imaginings. She placed herself 
with her back against the wall and fixed her eyes on her 
book. But she could not read. - The wardrobe creaked 
and made her start, and then suddenly she heard a 
stealthy step in the passage. She threw down her book, 
darted to the door, and locked it ; but what was the use, 
she asked herself, and she found her teeth chattering with 
the dread that had seized on her. 

“Nonsense," she said bravely, “what a baby lam," but 
she lit another pair of candles that stood on the high man- 
telshelf. Although this extra light cheered her she could 
not go back to her book. She said her prayers and un- 
dressed quickly, and then when she had blown out the 
candles, such a sickening dread overcame her that she 
nearly shrieked out. She scrambled into bed and hid 
her face to her pillow. 


70 


MISS i:yon of eyon court. 


CHAPTER VIL 

MARJORIE WRITES A LETTER. 

December had come but there was nothing- genial in the 
dark, bleak weather ; the persistent dulness of the house 
and its surroundings told on Marjorie's courage, she be- 
came depressed and languid. Snow had fallen heavily, 
and had lain already a foot deep on the ground, so that 
there really was nothing to be seen from the windows 
but an expanse of whiteness where these overlooked the 
moor, while from the hall windows the snow-laden 
branches of the carriage drive looked like a procession of 
white shrouded worshippers as they bent under their un- 
accustomed weight. 

Marjorie had been shivering since she came in from her 
walk but now she seemed regardless of the cold. She 
was standing on the marble pavement of the Hall pressing 
her face against the glass beside the door, till both nose 
and cheeks were blue with cold. It was nearly four 
o'clock. She was watching for the postman, but every 
minute of increasing darkness lessened her hope of his 
arrival. The tall clock on the landing struck the quarter 
past four, and Marjorie sighed heavily as she turned from 
the window. 

Oh, dear ! of course I ought not to expect him to write, 
but still I did. I suppose he thinks I'm a baby, and he 
treats me like one." 


MABJOBIE WBITES A LETTEB. 


71 


Tears had been ready for some minutes, and now as 
she walked slowly upstairs, they fell silently over her 
cold face. 

She went into the parlor and seated herself before the 
tire This was a part of the day that she hated, for candles 
were brought in at a fixed hour at Eyon Court, and Mar- 
jorie had perforce to sit in darkness, unless she went to 
her room and braved the cold there. 

am very miserable/’ she said, as she warmed first 
one dimpled hand and then the other. '' I wonder what 
would have happened if I had said No to Aunt Louisa’s 
invitation. She could not have brought me to Eyon 
Court against my will. Dear Mrs. Locker would not have 
allowed it, and I am sure Sir George would have taken 
my part. Am I so very sure though, that he would ” A long 
pause came at this point, while she debated many pros 
and cons, smiling and frowning in turn as they came. 

‘T really have tried to bear it,” she said at last, ‘‘and 
I can’t. It seems silly and impatient, and I suppose Sir 
George thinks so and he leaves me to my fate.” 

She clasped her hands in her lap and sat looking sadly 
into the fire. 

She asked herself why she had come to Eyon Court. 
Mrs. Locker and Sir George Wolff had told her that if she 
shrank from her aunt’s proposal some arrangement could 
doubtless be made ; but Marjorie had said she was willing 
to go to the manor house. 

She was proud of belonging to this old family, although 
her mother’s account had not given her a favorable im- 
pression of its members ; but then Marjorie knew that 


MISS EYON OF EYOJH COURT, 


72 

both her father and her grandfather had married for love, 
and that their wives had not brought money with them, 
and she thought that as Aunt Louisa and her brother John 
had evidently been fond of money they had probably 
shown their worst side to the poor wives — her mother 
and her grandmother — and with the daring self-confidence 
of nineteen she had resolved to be fond of her Aunt Louisa. 
Mrs. Locker had a pretty moderate sized house, but there 
was nothing special in t, and Marjorie had thought it 
would be delightful to have the free range of Eyon Court. 
A view of the old place sketched by her grandfather had 
always impressed her imagination. 

^•What a silly child I was,'' she said sadly. 

She had not seen Mr. Brown after that first evening. 
She had passed a miserably disturbed night, but next 
morning her nervous alarm had been soothed. She found 
a note from Mr. Brown which had been slipped under 
her door. It contained only a few lines of farewell. He 
expressed much regret that business obliged him to shorten 
his visit, but the presence of the note explained to Marjorie 
the cause of the stealthy footsteps which had so alarmed 
her overnight. 

Miss Eyon made no further attack on her ; and for a 
couple of days life seemed tolerable — then came the bitter 
north wind followed by the snow. Miss Eyon kept her 
roon and sent word that she did not want visitors ; and at 
first Marjorie had enjoyed the freedom of solitude. But 
her aunt soon shook off the cold that had kept her pris- 
oner, and reappeared at luncheon and dinner. She also 
asked Marjorie to spend her evenings in the study. Cer- 


MABJOniE WRITES A LETTER, 


73 

tainly, as the girl now told herself before the fire, it could 
not be that her aunt enjoyed her company. More than 
once she had spoken so unkindly that Marjorie had hard 
work to keep herself from open rebellion. At last, just a 
week ago, Miss Eyon had been almost silent for two 
days, and in her despair Marjorie sat down and wrote to 
Sir George Wolff; she told him of her utter wretchedness, 
and she begged him to come and see and advise her. 
But no answer had come from him. 

The fire warmed Marjorie’s feet and hands, and the 
blaze scorched her cheeks ; but this glow did not help to 
cheer her. Her heart felt very heavy. Till this disap- 
pointment of her hopes she had not known how truly she 
believed in her old friend’s love, or how much she olung 
to him for help and advice. She told herself, as she ner- 
vously twined her fingers yet more closely together, 
that it was a just punishment on her for having amused 
herself with Mr. Brown ; it seemed to her fancy, which 
had of late grown morbid, that Sir George might have 
heard of her walk with this stranger, and might feel 
offended. 

She had complained to him on the moor of her loneli- 
ness, and only a few hours later he might have seen her 
laughing and talking with this handsome young fellow. 

‘^He is so humble-minded about himself,” she said, 
sadly, ^Hhat perhaps he was not angry ; perhaps the dear 
man gave me up in a broken-hearted sort of way, and 
persuaded himself I must like some one younger best, as 
if I could think of a stranger as I think of him. Oh dear, 


MISS EYON OF EYON COURT. 


74 

what a foo — foolish girl I have been. '' She hid her hot 
face in her hands. 

It did not occur to the simple girl that, although she 
had put her letter in the box in the hall, it was not a 
matter of course that it went to the post. Ever since 
Marjorie s arrival. Miss Eyon had inspected the contents 
of the letter-box before they were sent down to the village 
post-office, and she had smiled when she saw a letter 
addressed to ^^Sir George Wolff, Bart, with immediate'' 
in the corner. She opened and read the pathetic little 
letter, and was amused by its contents. 

This must be shopped,'' she said. Dulness is break- 
ing her heaat, is it ? '' 

She watched Marjorie more closely, and she saw a 
great change in the girl, but she decided that it was best 
to give her waiting-time ; best for her to see for herself 
that her friend was not coming to help her. To-day Miss 
Eyon resolved that no more time should be wasted. It 
may be that the girl’s pale face and the restless look in 
her eyes at luncheon time warned her guardian that weak 
creatures, driven to bay, sometimes prove unmanageable. 
While Marjorie sat crying before the fire, her aunt rang 
her bell for Hannah, and gave the woman a message for 
her niece. Marjorie had not felt the same trust in Hannah 
since that night when the old woman came to look for 
her in the library. She suspected that she was her aunt’s 
spy, and she was sorry she had talked so freely to her. 
When she saw Hannah come in by the private entrance 
she turned away her face to hide her tears. 

*'T’ mistress wants you in t’ study, ma’am.” 


MARJORIE WRITES A LETTER. 


75 

Marjorie was startled by such an unexpected summons. 
She pushed her hair off her forehead and looked round. 
What does my aunt want me for } ” 

Ah cannot say, ma'am. My business was nobbut to 
say you're wanted i' t' study," 

Marjorie's sweet temper had lost its readiness in all ways. 
She felt unwilling to obey her aunt's summons, and she 
was unwilling to trust in her. She was sure that she was 
sent for now to receive a lecture. 

When she opened the study door. Miss Eyon was sur- 
prised by the calmness with which the girl looked at her. 

'‘You had better sit down, child. " Her tone surprised 
Marjorie, it was so much more genial than usual. "I 
noticed at luncheon," the even voice went on, " that you 
scarcely ate or drank ; also that you looked worried. Is 
anything amiss.? Are you ill, Marjorie .? " 

"I — oh no, I am not ill then she gulped down her 
pride, and tried to be her old frank self. ' ' I am dull, 
that's all — and — and I am not used to it." 

"H'm.?" 

Miss Eyon gave a long, critical stare, and the girl red- 
dened under it. She felt that those cruel blue eyes had 
found out traces of her tears. It was so hard ; let her try 
ever so much, this old woman seemed always to find out 
where she was weak. 

"Well ! " Miss Eyon had waited a few minutes. She 
liked to see the girl's blushes, and she enjoyed beforehand 
the surprise she was going to give. "You are, I sup- 
pose, too weak to find your own amusements. A strong 
nature has its resources. I am sorry you find Eyon Court 


y6 MISS EYON OF EYON. COURT. 

dull, Marjorie; I must try to make it more cheerful for 
you. You want a companion, I fancy, and — ” 

The girl looked up quickly, her aunt's new tone startled 
her as much as the proposal did. There was an indul- 
gence in it for the shortcomings of youth that she fancied 
was unknown to her Aunt Louisa, and she said Thank 
you," although Miss Eyon had not finished her sentence. 

I think," the old woman went on, ‘'you did not dis- 
like Mr. Brown ? " 

“I liked him, aunt." 

“ I am glad to hear that, because as he does business 
for me elsewhere it suits me from time to time to have 
him here ; his visit this time can be made to suit a double 
purpose ; when I have done with him he can go out walk- 
ing with you." 

Marjorie looked up gladly, but her thanks were checked 
by the mocking expression in her aunt's eyes. Miss 
Eyon's voice had sounded kind, and yet her blue eyes 
said that every word she had spoken was false. 

“Is Mr. Brown really coming again," the girl said, 
thoughtfully. 

“ I have not yet sent him an invitation. You can save 
me that trouble. Sit down there," she nodded to a writ- 
ing table on the further side of the fireplace, “and write 
a nice little note to him." 

“In your name. Aunt?" 

Miss Eyon smiled. 

“You had better write from yourself. You can say I 
am tired and I bid you write. Ask him to come as soon 
as possible and stay as long as he can spare the time." 


MABJOEm WRITES A LETTER. 


71 


Am I awake?'' the girl asked herself. 

It was so difficult to believe that it could really be her 
Aunt Louisa who had continued to speak in such a pleas- 
ant way, Marjorie saw that she had misinterpreted the 
look which she had thought mocking ; she felt so much 
softened towards Miss Eyon that she fancied she had 
misjudged her. 

She sat down and took up a pen, but she felt very shy 
at beginning. Should she put ''Dear sir "or " Dear Mr. 
Brown "? She looked across the hearth. It was a relief 
to see Miss Eyon's eyes were closed. Marjorie breathed 
more freely, and she began "Dear Mr. Brown." She 
wrote a stiff little note, for she knew her aunt would want 
to see it ; also she was afraid Mr. Browm would be crit- 
ical ; he had seemed to her so very, very clever. She 
did not feel sure how she ought to sign it ; once, when 
she had written a business note for Miss Eyon, her aunt 
had dictated it and had told her to put "Yours faithfully." 

Marjorie decided at last to put " sincerely," and then 
she signed her name very distinctly. 

Miss Eyon opened her eyes. "Let me see it," she 
said, when the girl had folded her note. She smiled as 
she read it. "You can leave it here." Miss Eyon said ; 
"I mean to write a few words, and I will put them on 
the blank page. " 


78 


MISS H^YOJSf OF EYON COURT, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

AT THE BLADEBONE. 

No one sat on the bench outside the Bladebone this 
evening. A keen east wind had whirled down the valley 
for some hours past, and it was now so dark that even 
the wanderer, Tobias, was glad to make one of the half- 
circle round the broad hearth of the Inn, although he as- 
serted that his natural home was in the open air. Mat- 
thew Ray, the landlord of the Bladebone, a tall, strongly- 
built young fellow, who looked like a farmer, stood just 
now in the midst of his guests, with his back to the fire, 
and was seemingly enjoying the consumption of the 
wreaths of smoke which issued from the lips of his cus- 
tomers. 

‘‘He has been coming an' going mebbe more than ten 
years, "he said, in answer to the last speaker, “but, till 
now, he’s nivver come to Eyon Court twice within a 
quarter. You may laugh. Mister White, nobbut you’ll 
hear wedding bells ringing across t’ moor, and that before 
lang. Ah tell you." He looked sturdily at the butter- 
man, but Mr. Luke White shook his red head authorita- 
tively. 

“You’re wrang. Mat, you’re wrang," he said. “Ah 
goes oop to t’ Coort oftenest and Ah sudknowif onybody 


AT THE BLADEBONE, 


79 

knows. Ah tell ye that f lass is a bairn saxteen year owd 
or so, Ah reckon. T' mistress wull nut be matching her 
wiv a husband so sune ; so now you know.” He again 
wagged his red beard as he ended. 

Tobias looked at his pipe, and then taking it from his 
lips he puffed out a long wreath of smoke. He watched 
this curl upward round the landlord's head, and he half 
closed his eyes with the lazy look of enjoyment one sees 
in a cat ; then he laid a stumpy forefinger against his red 
nose. 

‘'You he V a long head. Mister White,” he said, “but 
you hev to mind t' duties o' your callin' ; mon, you can- 
not hev eyes everywhere ; you mun leave that to t' vaga- 
bonds like me. A month agone, whiles Ah set behind a 
bush, t' lad an' t' lassie passed by, an' to my thinking 
they wur not far from sweetheartin'. Nobbuthe's willin', 
he'd not coom to t' Coort, he hev said, Toby, said he, 
how can ye bide in sik a dog hole as Wenburn — coom to 
London, he says, an' Ah'll make a man o' you. Nay, 
friend Luke, if t'lass is willin', we sail hev t'weddin' bells 
ringing by Christmas ; t'owd lass wad nivver stomach 
overlong coortin' — eh, Dannie, what hev you to say? — 
spit it oot, mon.” 

Daniel's old white head was sunk on the breast of his 
smock frock, while both his large veined hands clasped 
the top of his stick. He was the only non-smoker among 
the gossipwS, and yet did not use his lips more freely for 
speech than many others of the group. At this direct 
question he looked up and showed a worn gray face, with 
a stubbly beard in need of shaving, and large, dark, sunk- 


8o 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


en eye sockets, for which his watery colorless eyes 
seemed strangely small ; they were over-shadowed by 
heavy brows, darker and coarser than his hair, and while 
he spoke these twitched uneasily, as if they had some 
connection with his words. 

‘‘Ah donnot know wherefore you sud ask me, Toby 
Horner,'' he said, very slowly. “ Ah've knawed t'Eyons 
of Eyon Court, man and lad, seventy years and more, 
an' Ah hev nivver seen a change in ony of them. Ah 
sez t'lass 'ull do reet if sheea taks a man whiles sheea's 
young and such like. T'owd lass is harder than t’floor," 
he struck his stick on it as he spoke, and made the mugs 
rattle on the table. “'Tis enough to mak' t'lass fey," he 
said, “shut up wiv twae owd women-folk sik as Hannah 
Reeth and t'mistress — a house wiv barred windows ! 
Ah'd as lief go to prison at ance." He paused, and then 
under his breath he added, “There's ane that walks 
there 

There was a solemn silence. Luke White's beard had 
become very tremulous, but at this weird hint he got up 
from his seat and looked rebukingly at the landlord, who 
in his opinion should have checked such free spoken 
talk ; but Mat Ray avoided the butterman's eyes ; he 
owed nothing to Miss Eyon, and he found her hard and 
grasping about questions of repair and improvement at 
the Bladebone ; it is possible that he secretly enjoyed 
Daniel's remarks, for he had nodded an accompaniment 
while he spoke, but Tobias shook his head. 

“That's a lang say for you, Dannie, but you forgit 
t'owd saying, ‘Oot t'frying pan into t’fire.' You've 


AT THE BLADEBONE, 


8l 


knowed t’Eyons langer than t'rest on us — can ye tell 
where this Mister Brown comes from an' whar he wur 
reared? Ah'd like to know summat about un." 

Luke White paused as he was going out. 

‘‘ He's a freend o' Miss Eyon's, that's enuf to know, 
Tobias Horner." 

Tobias shook his head. 

^'Go back to t'shop, mon ; go back t'shop." He 
waved his hand. ‘‘What brains you had, mon, hev' 
run to lard an' butter. We hev knowed that mich for 
years past. We want to learn now why it is better, as 
Dannie says, for t'lass to marry wiv a stranger than to 
live oop at t'Coort." 

Here Mat Ray interposed. 

“ Wait a jee," he said, with a broad smile, “You go a 
trifle fast, Tobias. The young man may have come 
down to Eyon Court on business without any regard to 
Miss Marjorie. Poor lass, I'm glad for her sake she has 
such a change as a young chap to speak wiv ; she is 
sadly dull I am afeared." 

Tobias grinned. “'Twill be more a change for t'lass 
than for t'lad,"Ah'm thinkin' — ah knows summat about 
Mister Brown — t'lass at t'Court isna t'first pretty face he's 
run after by mony a one. Nay, to my thinkin' t' lass sud 
bide wiv her guradian, nobbut a better man may coom 
forrard to give her a home. 'Tis her brass this chap’s 
wantin'. He'll mebbe like mysen hev no more an' what 
he stands oop in." 

This seemed to end the discussion ; a general scuffling 
of feet, a reaching down of wraps by the older men from 


82 


3IISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


the pegs they hung on, showed that the meeting was 
broken up, and although Tobias called for a fresh mug- 
ful, he had to drink it in solitude — the landlord having 
got notice from Mrs. Ray that supper was on the table. 


A CHANGE. 


83 


CHAPTER IX. 

A CHANGE. 

Marjorie was in high spirits. Hannah had brought 
her the news of Mr. Brown's arrival, and a message from 
Miss Eyon ; her aunt wished her to wear her pretty 
gown when she appeared at dinner. 

Mr. Brown's greeting and his admiring glances showed 
his appreciation. 

He thanked her warmly for her note, and Miss Eyon 
smiled. She seemed satisfied that he should continue to 
talk to the girl through the dinner. 

''You will come into the study this evening, Mar- 
jorie," she said, so graciously that the girl could hardly 
believe her ears. Dinner ended, Mr. Brown gave Miss 
Eyon his arm, and while Marjorie followed, she told her- 
self it was just like a fairy tale in which, after some 
weeks of trial and sadness, the heroine finds her life 
completely changed. 

"I know Mr. Brown has been my good fairy," she 
said. ' ' I feel ever so grateful to him. " 

When they reached the study. Miss Eyon seated her- 
self in her high-backed wooden chair and closed her 
eyes. 

'.'You young people must amuse yourselves," she 
said, " I shall have a nap." 


84 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


Marjorie looked at the pale, closed eyelids and she 
wondered whether the nap would be real, or whether her 
her aunt meant secretly to watch her behavior. The con- 
stant feeling that she was distrusted had made the girl 
wary, and when Mr. Brown drew his chair close to hers 
and began to whisper, she instinctively moved a little 
away from him. 

‘‘ How charming you look to-night,"' he said. '^Miss 
Eyon told me you had grown pale and languid, but I 
can’t see what she meant. " 

Marjorie did not know how to answer. No one had 
ever spoken to her in this way ; she felt shy, and slightly 
annoyed. 

“Tell me about London, please," she said. “Have 
you enjoyed yourself since you went away.? " 

“What a question! Cannot you guess, you sweet 
child, that I have been miserable without you. I have 
been thinking about you ever since we parted, longing 
to be with you again. I cannot tell you how happy that 
dear little letter made me." 

He took her hand before she could prevent him, and he 
kissed it 

She quickly drew her hand away, and looked at her 
Aunt, but her eyes were still closed. Marjorie was 
vexed with her companion, she certainly had not given 
him the right to kiss her hand, and she sat in uncom- 
fortable silence. 

“Do not be angry," he whispered. “I could not 
help it, but it shall not happen again. I want you to 
listen to me, I want to tell you how I have been plan- 


A CHANGE. 85 

ning for you. I have settled that you must not go on 
living in this dismal place.'' 

‘‘ It is not as dismal as it was. Aunt Louisa has grown 
to like me." 

‘^She could not help that," he said, tenderly. ‘‘Who 
could help loving you, I wonder ; but still this dulness 
is bad for you. You will lose little by little all your gayety ; 
you will grow silent and sad ; full of vague trouble and 
fear. How can I tell that you may not grow in your 
turn suspicious of others." 

He nodded towards the sleeping figure in the chair op- 
posite, and Marjorie felt nervous ; It seemed to her wrong 
to carry on such talk. 

“Will it not be better and truer to say all this out before 
my aunt. If you tell her you think that this place is not 
good for me, she will listen to you. I am sure she is 
very fond of you." 

He pulled out his fair, soft whiskers and sat looking in- 
to the fire. 

“Yes," he said at last, “perhaps she is — anyway I 
come here to advise her, so she will have to listen." He 
looked meaningly at Marjorie and she felt a little timid 
under his gaze. “Of course" — he said it more as if he 
were talking aloud than talking to his companion — “there 
can be no doubt as to the easiest way of setting you free ; 
but that rests with you, you might not like the plan and 
then that ends it. I must feel my way. But be sure of 
one thing," he said earnestly, “ I shall not leave you as 
I found you ; before I go away the plan for your deliver- 


86 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


ance shall be settled with — He looked towards Miss 
Eyon. 

His eyes remained fixed on her. Miss Eyon was awake 
and she was looking at him and at Marjorie. 

have slept too long/' she said. '' I fancy it is late. 
Good-night, Marjorie. I have some business to get 
through before bed-time. Pleasant dreams to you, child." 

This was a very unusual attention, but it chilled 
Marjorie. Once more she could have said that her aunt's 
eyes were mocking her. 

The bed-candles always stood on a quaint old sideboard 
just outside the study door, and Mr. Brown followed 
Marjorie, and began to light her candle. 

want to say one thing," he whispered ; she has 
eyes like a hawk, so be very careful ; but look here, what 
ever happens, do not put any blame on me ; remember 
that I am always at your service. You trust me, do you 
not, sweet girl } " He took her hand as if to say good- 
night, but as he ended he pressed it warmly between his 
own. ‘r Believe me, I would not vex you for the world. " 

The girl was touched. She gently drew her hand 
away. 

''Thank you," she' said, " I promise to trust to you." 

He stood watching her as she went up the steps. Her 
graceful figure, in its white clinging gown, stood out pic- 
ture-like in the darkness. Marjorie heard him sigh as she 
opened the door into the narrow lofty passage. 

Hannah was standing before the door of Marjorie's bed- 
room, and she did not turn to open it. 

" It is farther on, ma'am," she said, bluntly. ‘‘T' mis- 


A CHANGE, 87 

tress hev given you a warmer room for f winter. It is 
this way."' 

She did not wait to be answered. She opened the door 
by which Marjorie had explored the other gallery, and 
the girl followed her. It did not smell so musty this even- 
ing. One of the doors on the right stood open, and from 
it a flood of light and warmth streamed into the passage. 
Hannah led the way into this room. The fireplace was 
much larger ; the room, too, was larger than Marjorie's 
bedroom had been. The girl felt a thicker, softer carpet 
underfoot, and there were comfortable easy chairs, and a 
table drawn in front of the fireplace. Yet in spite of these 
arrangements for her comfort, the girl felt a sudden shrink- 
ing, a sort of warning. She looked round her. On her 
right was the awful-looking canopied bedstead, and as 
she glanced above the high mantle-shelf there was her 
aunt's portrait. She was in the barred room. 

‘‘Why am I put here, Hannah?" She spoke angrily, 
but Hannah went on attending to the fire. 

“Ah hev telled you, ma'am; it is for warmth. This 
room has been fettled a' purpose for you. T' mistress 
hev thowt t'other room was cold in winter. You will 
find all your things in t' drawers an' t' shelves^ an' nobbut 
all is to your liking you mun tell me, ma'am." 

“It is not to my liking to sleep here at all. Look 
here, Hannah, I don't mind about a fire. You help me 
to carry what I want for to-night, and I shall go back to 
my own room. I won't sleep here," she said vehemently. 
She snatched up her brushes and her dressing-gown, and 
hurried to the door. 


88 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


** Donnut you fret yoursen, ma'am, t'other door is 
steekit, t'mistress hev locked it hersen, she hev t'key. ” 
Marjorie's surprise made her pause, and calmed her 
excitement. 

** My aunt came to my room, did she ? I thought you 
said, Hannah, she never went about the house ? " 

‘‘That is so, ma'am, Ah was freeted when Ah saw 
her standing there, an' she said, ‘ Hannah, t’room is too 
cold for my niece ; t'other side o' t'house is warmer.'" 

Marjorie looked hard at Hannah, but she thought the 
old woman was telling the truth. For an instant she 
resolved to go back to her aunt's study and insist on sleep- 
ing in her former bedroom, but her nature was essentially 
gentle, and she shrank from the quarrel which would 
have to take place before Mr. Brown. She stood think- 
ing, while Hannah began to unloose her gown. 

“Look here, Hannah," she said at last, “I am not 
going to give in, I will sleep here to-night, because my 
doing so will save you trouble, but I shall see my Aunt 
to-morrow, and tell her I dislike the change." 


THE SECEET OF THE BAEEED EOOM. 


89 


\f 


CHAPTER X. 

THE SECRET OF THE BARRED ROOM. 

Miss Eyon saf in her high-backed chair, stiffer and 
even more erect than usual. There was a flash in her 
blue eyes and a tight compression of the lips ; and her 
hands, instead of being as usual folded in her lap, 
grasped each an arm of her chair, as if by the action she 
were trying to keep in the anger that possessed her ; but 
her face, with these exceptions, was as calm and pale as 
usual. 

Marjorie had risen from her seat. She stood before her 
aunt with her hands pressed on her bosom ; her head was 
bent slightly forward, and her dark-blue eyes shone with 
suppressed feeling as they flxed on Miss Eyon. The 
girl did not look like* a culprit brought up for sentence. 
Her stern young face was more like that of an avenging 
angel full of innocence and truth. 

There had been silence for some minutes, then Miss 
Eyon said, irritably : 

You need not stare at me, Marjorie, I have told you 
what you have to do. You fretted and you have com- 
plained of dulness ; I do not care to have a discontented 
person with me. You have flirted with Mr. Brown and 
encouraged him, and yet you affect surprise because I 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


90 

wise you to marry him. I expected truth from an Eyon 
— child, you are degenerate.'’ 

The girl had received an early summons to the study, 
and then, before she had time to complain of her change 
of room. Miss Eyon told her that she wished her to marry 
Mr. Brown. 

‘'It is you who are not dealing fairly by me," the girl 
said. “ I do not want you to take my opinion. Will you 
send for Mrs. Locker or — or Sir George Wolff, they will 
gladly relieve you of the charge of me." 

Miss Eyon looked less angry, she even began to smile 
in the sneering way that Marjorie so much disliked. 

“Mrs. Locker is not your guardian and I am. As to 
Sir George Wolff, it would not be dignified, I think, to 
thrust a girl on a man who has lost his interest in her. 
May I ask what reason you have for counting on Sir 
George Wolff's help. Have you been in correspondence 
with him ? If he cared for you," she said, slowly, “he 
would have come to see you. He could not help it." 

The expression of Marjorie s face altered. She hung 
her head in confusion. No, her aunt had spoken truly. 
She had no right to count on her old friend’s help. She 
felt very forlorn. It almost seemed better to say she 
would marry Mr. Brown, and to take her chance of being 
happy with him. She shuddered when the idea came. 
What did she know of him ? She did not even know 
what he was, or whether he was honest and true ; each 
time that she had got to like him, and to feel contented in 
his company, he had done or said something that had 
vexed her and made her shy of him. Her first impres- 


THE SECRET OF THE BARRED ROOM. 


91 

sion had been that he was not quite a gentleman, but 
that had become effaced by association — now it returned 
strongly. 

^^Well, you do not answer me. I am right then in 
saying that your old friend has given you up. You are a 
wayward girl, Marjorie. When I asked Mr. Brown if he 
would like to take you for a wife, he was full of gratitude. 
I believe the man is devoted to you. He is young and 
handsome, he has the means to keep a wife ; you cannot 
give one reason against marrying, except a peevish girl's 
caprice. I have been at some unnecessary pains to ex- 
plain myself, but there is one point I have left out. I 
never give up a purpose, nor do I falter in it, you may 
have learned so much about me. I do not intend to hurry 
this marriage or to ill-treat you, but I tell you in plain 
words, you must marry this gentleman before the year is 
out. " 

The girl stood watching her, and when she saw how 
pitiless those blue eyes looked, she thought of her aunt's 
story ; if she had kept thirty years to her bitter resolution 
and had refused forgiveness to a dying man, what hope, 
the girl asked herself, could she have of finding any 
mercy in Miss Eyon. She shivered as though ice had 
touched her, and then an idea came to help her. More 
than once she had met the clergyman in the village, she 
liked his face, and his sermons had helped her in her sad 
life ; she would go across the moor to the Parsonage, and 
ask him to advise her. She wished now that she had 
spoken to him before, but she had been too timid. 

You are very hard Aunt," she said; ‘‘it is enough 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


92 

to make any one rebellious to be treated as you have 
treated me this morning. I don’t feel that I can marry 
Mr. Brown ; but, at least, I ought to have time to think 
in ; it is all so cruelly sudden.” 

Miss Eyon smiled. 

‘‘That is not my fault. I spoke kindly, as a mother 
might have done, and you forgot yourself — you behaved 
like a poor, untutored village child. I will give you time. 
It is possible that Mr. Brown can plead for himself better 
than through me; but, Marjorie, unless you consent to 
obey me, I prefer that you should keep indoors. I do not 
confine you to your room, but I forbid you to leave the 
house. Now you had better go away.” 

Marjorie looked defiant. 

‘I have to ask you,” she said, “why you put me in 
that barred room. I cannot sleep there. I lay awake 
all last night. It is like a prison.” 

Miss Eyon smiled. 

“It was a prison years ago,” she said. “I dare say 
you are curious to know how a room came to be barred 
in such a house as this. I will tell you. More than a 
hundred years ago there was a girl in this house whose 
reason left her. Her father was a foolish, fond old man, 
and he kept the matter secret lest his child should be 
taken away from him. He caused bars to be placed to 
the windows of that room, and the walls have a casing 
of wool behind the plaster to deaden sound. You might 
cry till you were tired, Marjorie, and no one could hear 
you,” she said, with a sneer. “But,” she went on more 
quickly, for Marjorie’s scared face troubled her, and made 


THE SECBET OF THE BARBED BOOM, 


93 

her wish to be rid of the girl's presence, ''the foolish 
father forgot to give his daughter a keeper. One morn- 
ing he found her hanging to the window bars by a silk 
ribbon halter she had knotted round her throat. Go, girl, 
go ! Why do you stand staring at me ? Ah ! " 

Miss Eyon got up from her chair, for Marjorie stretched 
out her hand, caught wildly at the air, and fell on the floor 
near her aunt's table. 


94 


MISS ETON OF ETON COUET. 


CHAPTER XI. 

ANOTHER MEETING IN THE LIBRARY. 

When Marjorie opened her eyes, she was alone in her 
aunt's study. 

Someone had tried to revive her; her face was wet with 
eau de Cologne ; a cushion had been placed beneath her 
head and a shawl had been thrown over her. She got up ; 
she was not hurt, but she felt giddy and stupefied; she 
looked round her with a feeling of surprise. Her aunt's 
empty chair brought back memory, the horror she had 
felt at the unhappy girl's story revived. 

She went slowly out of the study and along the passage 
to her former room. The door was locked, as Hannah 
had said. Marjorie went into the gallery beyond. The 
door of the barred room stood open. ' It was a relief to 
hear some one singing within ; a maid was on her knees 
before the grate, singing while she brushed the bars. 
But Marjorie's eyes went at once to the window, and she 
shivered' at the remembrance of her aunt's legend. The 
light shone in broadly now, but how would it be when 
the room was filled with shadows, or worse still, if she 
happened to wake in the darkness. She was impatient, 
however, for the maid's departure. She felt that nothing 
could be worse than to remain at Eyon Court, and she 


ANOTBEB MEETING IN THE LIBRATR, 


95 

must think how she could get away. Marjorie's disor- 
dered hair and ghastly paleness had excited the maid's 
curiosity ; but the young lady seated herself with her 
back to the fireplace, and as there was nothing to be 
gained by staying, the maid gathered up her brushes and 
departed. Marjorie bathed her aching forehead and her 
eyes with cold water until the pain lessened, and she was 
able to think without effort. She asked herself if it would 
be possible to marry Mr. Brown, and then last night's talk 
came back, and she understood the meaning of his words. 
The shock of finding herself installed in this hateful room 
had banished them, but they now came back clearly. 
Marriage with him was '^the easy way" Mr. Brown had 
hinted at, and he had looked very earnest and truthful 
when he followed her outside and asked her to trust him. 

I will trust him," she said. A sudden feeling of con- 
fidence suggested that if he loved her he could not be 
cruel, or urge her against her will. Yes, she would trust 
him ; she would tell him about Miss Eyon's harshness, 
and she would ask him to take her back to Mrs. Locker. 

The difficulty was to see him privately, now that her 
aunt had forbidden her to leave the house. 

It suddenly occurred to Marjorie that her aunt might 
not yet have given any orders to prevent her from doing 
this and she at once put on her hat and cloak. It would 
be better, she thought, to seek the Vicar's protection be- 
fore she appealed to Mr. Brown. If she failed with the 
Vicar, she could still apply to him. She went bravely 
along the gallery, lighted by pale ground glass windows, 
and through her own passage, till she came out facing 


96 ^^ISS EYON OF ETON COURT, 

the study door. Her heart beat quickly. If Hannah 
should come out of her aunfs room what should she do, 
for she expected the old servant would stop her. ^^She 
knows everything,'" the girl said. She went on safely 
till she reached the stairs that led down into the hall. As 
she came down them, Barbara appeared from a door lead- 
ing to the pantry. 

She looked hard at Marjorie, and stood waiting till the 
girl had walked across to the entrance door. 

‘‘ If you please, ma'am, t'mistress’s orders are for you 
not to go outside ; Miss Eyon hev said so to me her- 
self." 

Marjorie looked at the door and then at the maid, but 
she felt that she was no match for the broad sturdy 
woman ; besides, she could not wrangle with Barbara. 
She walked to the window and looked out. The snow 
was loosening from the trees, and some of them had 
recovered their upright position. 

Marjorie had never felt so angry. While she stood try- 
ing to calm herself she saw some one coming up the drive. 
She fancied it was Mr. Brown, 'but just as the figure came 
near enough for her to see that it was Mr. Brown, he 
turned abruptly into a side path leading round to the 
stables. Marjorie went upstairs, again disappointed, but 
determined now to appeal to him for help. He was 
plainly the only refuge she had from her aunt's tyranny. 

A secret fear had come to the girl that as Miss Eyon 
had been capable of locking one door, she might find 
her way to the barred room and imprison her there. 
Marjorie went into the parlor. She put her hat and cloak 


ANOTHER MEETING IN THE LIBRARY, 


97 

in a corner and tried to read. But her headache had come 
back, and she felt altogether unhinged. 

The two stout maids came in and laid the table for 
luncheon, and presently they brought it in. 

‘'Ah was to say, ma'am, if you please," said stolid 
faced Barbara, “that Miss Eyon takes luncheon in t' 
study, and Mr. Brown is not in t' house." 

“ Do you mean," Marjorie said in sudden terror, “ that 
Mr. Brown has gone away." 

“Yes, ma'am." 

Marjorie thought that after this the woman hurried over 
her work, as if she feared to be questioned further. She 
wondered whether Mr. Brown was in the house. Barbara 
might not know that he was there. It was possible that 
her aunt suspected her intention of appealing to him, and 
had taken measures to keep them apart. 

Marjorie still felt taint and giddy, as if she had been 
ill ; but as she ate and drank she revived a little ; she 
began again to think over a means of escape. 

Supposing that Mr. Brown consented to help her, she 
was glad to feel that she need only adopt any plan he 
might suggest. She had plenty of money to pay the ex- 
pense of her journey to Mrs. Locker's ; but she did not 
know how to accomplish such a journey. Mrs. Locker 
had taken her part of the way, and they slept at York, 
Marjorie had made the journey thence to Eyon Court in a 
postchaise, and she could not hope to find such a vehicle 
in Wenburn. 

Hope is strong in a young heart, and Marjorie had a 

buoyant nature. She knew that she could not be mar- 

7 


98 EYON OF ETON COUET. 

ried against her will ; but if her aunt were to lock her up 
in that terrible room, she asked herself whether she might 
not be brought to consent ; at this thought her fears 
counselled her to yield while there was time to do so with 
dignity. After all, she did not dislike Mr. Brown, and he 
had been very kind to her. She fell asleep at last over 
the fire, thoroughly worn-out. She roused suddenly. 
Some one seemed to be speaking to her. She opened her 
eyes, and she started. She was alone, but it was dark, 
candles had been brought in while she slept ; and it 
seemed to her that a tall gray figure was vanishing into 
the wall beside her aunfis door. 

Marjorie jumped out ; stretched out her arms, and then 
she rubbed her eyes. Had she seen a ghost, she won- 
dered, or had her aunt come to watch her whilst she slept. 

The dressing bell rang as she left the room. On her 
way she met Hannah, and the woman turned and fol- 
lowed her. 

I really don’t want you, Hannah,” the girl said. I 
can manage by myself” 

Hannah followed as if she had not heard. When she 
had closed the bedroom door she said : 

‘'Ahhev something particular to say, ma’am, and it 
cannot be spoken in a passage. Donnut you vex Mr. 
Brown, Miss Marjorie ; he is master here, an anybody 
that gets his ill word is safe to suffer for it. Keep you 
well with Mr. Brown, ma’am, and you’ll go safe to 
fend.” 

Hannah spoke with more feeling than usual, but she 
looked so stiff and solemn that Marjorie laughed. 


ANOTHER MEETING IN THE LIBRARY. 


99 

What should make you think I want to quarrel with 
the man ? '' Then, as the old servant looked mortified, 
she saw that the warning was kindly meant. It was 
soothing that one person in the house should have a 
friendly feeling towards her, and she patted Hannah on 
the shoulder. 

Thank you for your advice, but I am rather surprised 
at you,'' Marjorie said. ‘^When Mr. Brown was here 
before, you came and took me away from him, and now 
you preach friendship. Well, I can* tell you I want a 
friend badly just now." 

Hannah looked wistful. She seemed ready to speak, 
and then she turned suddenly to the wardrobe and spoke 
over her shoulder. ‘‘Mr. Brown comes back to-night," 
she said. “ Nobbut ye'll be mebbe asleep before he 
comes." 

Marjorie had become suspicious. She knew that it 
was useless to question Hannah, but the woman never 
wasted words. She must have some motive for saying 
this about Mr. Brown. 

“Perhaps she may fancy it comforts me to know that 
I shall not be alone in the house to-night with Aunt 
Louisa," the girl said to herself as she went in to dinner. 

Dinner was at an end. Miss Eyon had taken her 
usual place at the table, but she had hardly spoken to 
her niece. And now she had gone away directly after 
the table was cleared. 

Marjorie lingered beside the fire ; she dreaded to return 
to her bedroom. But presently Barbara came in with 


lOO 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


her bed-candle, and asked if she should put out the lights. 
Marjorie longed to say that she wished to sit later in the 
dining-room, but she felt unable to struggle against her 
aunt’s will while she remained under her roof. A sort of 
helpless indecision was creeping over her. She felt list- 
less and inert, with a consciousness that unless she could 
escape from Eyon Court, she must do all her aunt willed 
her to do. 

She opened the door of her room timidly, and then she 
stood still instead of entering. She held her breath with 
expectation, for the door at the end of the passage, which 
she had always found to be locked, was slowly opening. 

The thought darted quickly into Marjorie’s brain that 
her fear was justified — her aunt was coming in this 
stealthy way to fasten her a prisoner in the barred room. 

But in another moment she saw Mr. Brown. 

He had a lighted candle and he said, ‘‘Hush ! ” although 
she had not spoken. 

“Will you follow me.?” he said, in a low voice. 

Marjorie went after him, into what she found was yet 
another gallery, at right angles with the one she had 
left. Mr. Brown closed and locked the door behind her, 
and then he opened one on the right of the passage they 
had entered. 

“Do you know where you are ? ” he said, and he placed 
the candle he carried in a sconce on the wall. 

Marjorie was alarmed when she recognized the library. 

“Oh, why did you bring me here,” she said, eagerly. 
“I said I would never come here again.” 

He laughed and drew forward one of the old chairs. 


ANOTHER MEETING IN THE LIBRAUY, 


lOI 


I am sorry you object/' he said, as she seated her- 
self; ‘'but I really had no choice. I dislike* to talk in 
whispers, and the walls here are deaf ; and besides, I be- 
lieve even Hannah dislikes to venture into these old 
rooms at this time of night. You want to speak to me, 
don't you, now that matters have come to a crisis ? " he 
said, as if he had been reading her thoughts. 

At first Majorie had felt a strong dislike to finding her- 
self alone with him. She had hesitated whether she 
should not be safer in the barred room, and then she 
asked herself what she could have to fear from Mr. 
Brown } Was not this meeting that which she most 
wished for } Now her opportunity had come. 

“Yes," she said, but she felt strangely shy. How 
could she say to him without any provocation, “I do 
not want to marry you. " 

She sat looking at her hands, folded in her lap ; and he 
stood leaning against the chimney-piece looking at her. 
He had placed the chair so that the light fell on her face. 
For a minute or two he watched her quivering lips till he 
fancied she was going to cry. 

“ My dear child," he said kindly, “you are not keep- 
ing your promise ; last night you said you would trust 
me. Am I an ogre, and do you think I shall gobble you 
up, eh .? " He ended merrily. She looked up, and the 
sight of his smiling pleasant face so cheered her that she 
smiled too, and a load seemed taken from her spirits. 

“To begin with," he went on, “you have not even 
shaken hands with me, and I cannot remember that I 
have seen you since last night." 


102 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


He took her hand, but he did not attempt to keep it in 
his. Now we must talk business/' and he drew forward 
another of the heavy chairs and seated himself opposite 
her. He was very slow in doing this, but he was study- 
ing Marjorie intently all the while. 

Do you know," he said, at last, ‘'that I believe in- 
stead of being cheerful I ought to be tearing my hair and 
gnashing my teeth with disappointment ? Eh ? What 
do you say. Mademoiselle.? — smiling, I declare. Well, 
well, I suppose you think I have no feeling." 

He got up and walked to the other end of the room. 

“ There, you need not say a word," for, as he came up 
to her, Marjorie began to speak. “ I understand all about 
it : you are an Eyon, and, therefore, you will not be 
driven to do what your aunt chooses. By Jove ! I can't 
blame you, though I am the loser. Well, now," he 
seated himself again, “ we must settle things ; you want 
to leave Eyon Court at once, do you not ? " 

Marjorie's eyes opened widely. “Who could have told 
you that ? I did not tell any one ? " 

“My dear," he bent forwa:rd towards her, “I am not 
blind, and I know what goes on in this house. No girl 
with any courage or feeling would submit to be treated as 
you have been treated. Now, I am quite willing to help 
you if only you will tell me where you wish to go." 

“To Mrs. Locker, please, near Selby. There is no one 
else to whom I could go." 

“Isn't there?" he said, so mischievously that she 
looked up quickly, and then as quickly looked away, her 
face covered with blushes. “I thought, you know, ' he 


ANOTHER MEETING IN THE LIBRARY. 


103 

went on, '' that a certain friend we talked about on the 
moor would you give a warmer welcome, eh ? ” 

Marjorie felt affronted and very haughty ; and then she 
remembered Hannah's caution. Was the woman in Mr. 
Brown's confidence, and had she helped him to meet her 
in this way ^ It seemed to her that she might be close at 
hand watching over her. The thought helped Marjorie 
to be calm. 

‘‘If you will tell me how I can get to Mrs. Locker, I 
shall be very grateful," she said. “If I can get to Ripon 
I know then how to go on by train." 

“I can do it," he said, “but I must have a day to ar- 
range matters, and also it will be better to give Mrs. Locker 
some notice. You must give me her address. Do not 
write to her — you must not do anything to arouse sus- 
picion here. Do you think you can endure another day 
at Eyon Court } " 

“Yes, if I shall be free afterwards." 

“ That's a brave girl." He nodded his head approv- 
ingly. “You must try to be as usual to-morrow, as you 
have been to-day. On Thursday morning, after break- 
fast, I wfill arrange that Barbara leaves the key in the 
door, and you will walk out into the avenue as if nothing 
had happened ; then you have only to make your way 
down the valley to the point where you admired the 
ruined castle — you remember } " 

Marjorie nodded. 

“A quarter of a mile further on the path descends and 
leads you to a bridge. On the other side of this bridge 
I will be waiting for you." 


104 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


He paused, but she did not answer. 

‘‘Well?’' He looked earnestly at her. “Are you 
afraid ? " 

“N — no," she said. And then more heartily, “Oh, 
no. " 

And yet, as she spoke, Marjorie felt a sudden chill, 
almost as if an unseen hand were laid on her shoulder. 

Was it a warning against her companion, she wondered. 

“How pale you are," he said. “ I am afraid you dare 
not venture. I am ready to do all I can, believe me, but 
I cannot save you from Miss Eyon unless you work with 
me. I shall not have time to come back here, and we 
could not leave the house together without exciting suspi- 
cion, and a fresh suspicion would end everything. Long 
before we reached the end of the avenue we should be 
followed. You would be brought back, and I should be 
forbidden to enter the house. As it is, I must see Miss 
Eyon before I leave, and lull her suspicions the best way 
I can." 

“ I shall not see you again, then," said Marjorie, 
timidly. 

“ No ; I am off the first thing to-morrow. You will 
meet me at the bridge. You understand that I expect you 
there the day after to-morrow. The earlier you get away 
the better. Now when you have given me Mrs. Locker s 
address, I will see you safely along the gallery." 


C0M8PIRAT0B8 


105 


CHAPTER XII. 

CONSPIRATORS. 

When Mr. Brown had lighted Marjorie to the door of 
her room, he went on along the galleries that bordered 
the square, well-like yard in the centre of the house, till 
he reached Miss Eyon's study. He smiled as he tapped 
at the door. 

‘‘ Come in,'' her voice said in answer. 

It was past ten o'clock, but Miss Eyon still sat at her 
desk. Her face was drawn, and it looked death-like ; 
almost as gray as the gown she wore. 

‘^You are very late," she said, when the young man 
came up to her. I have sent Hannah to bed." 

'' I could not come sooner " — he spoke brusquely, 
rudely even. ‘‘It is your fault, too ; you have frightened 
that poor child till she is nervous and over-wrought ; she 
wanted plenty of soothing." 

Miss Eyon smiled. 

“ That is like a man's gratitude. For whose sake have 
I troubled myself, Richard Brown ? Let me hear no more 
of that from you ; tell me what progress have you made ? " 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Progress ! I told you beforehand that you must give 


io6 MISS EYON OF EYON COURT, 

her time, and let things happen naturally. I can see that 
she likes me less than she did at first, and I intend to give 
the whole thing up.'' 

He flung himself into a chair, and passed his hand 
across his forehead as if he were tired. 

Miss Eyon looked at him, but notin the way she looked 
at Marjorie. There was an admiring pity in those hard 
blue eyes which seemed to make them tender ; but her 
next words contradicted this expression, and indeed it 
faded almost as soon as it came. 

‘'You propose, then, to begin life on your own account, 
to be completely independent } " 

He looked at her between his delicate, outspread fingers, 
and then he laughed easily, as if he enjoyed the joke in 
her words. 

“You must take people as they are, you know," he 
said. “For instance, the power of your will could not 
change Hannah into a courteous lady ; and I am afraid 
at thirty-three it is quite too late to produce a working 
man, full of estimable, self-denying qualities, out of an 
idle, amiable, good-for-nothing. My dear friend, why do 
you frown ; have I ever deceived you } Have I not asked 
you to pay my debts over and over again, and I am 
bound to say that your goodness has never failed me." 

“My goodness, as you call it, may have been your 
ruin," she interrupted. “I always hoped you would 
sober down as you grew older." 

“So I have, my dear. I am as steady as old Time, I 
never touch a card. I fancy the best proof of reformation 
I could offer was in my willingness to marry your very un- 


CONSPIRATOBS, 


107 

appreciative great-niece — dainty little soul ! She doesn't 
know what a husband she has lost/' 

The gray hue left Miss Eyon's face, she sat upright and 
grasped each arm of her chair ; her eyes were bright with 
her impatience. 

‘‘Do not repeat that ; it is foolish, and it irritates me ; 
and, Richard, you and I cannot quarrel. I have told you 
that at my death the whole of the Eyon property goes to 
Marjorie, but I tell you now that all I have besides, a few 
thousands I have saved, I have also willed to her. I 
have done this because my will is set on your marrying 
her, and because if you had a separate means of living, 
for even a year or so after my death, you are unstable 
enough to carry on your bachelor existence, and to let 
another man step in and marry the girl, and so the Eyon 
Court estates would pass to aliens. No. You must 
marry Marjorie without delay, Richard Brown. I do not 
want her here in my lifetime." 

Mr. Brown sat looking at Miss Eyon, his handsome 
head a little on one side, but he seemed more amused 
than annoyed. 

“Well, well," he said after a pause. “ It is a pleasure 
to listen to you, you talk so well, and one knows that 
you don't humbug as other women do. You say exactly 
what you think. Now you must not be put out if I am 
equally frank. I must tell you in plain words, my dear 
friend, that your coercion system with Marjorie is simply 
absurd. As a general rule coercion never answers except 
with fools and knaves, and I tell you plump that if Mar- 
jorie can only be forced into marrying me, I don’t care to 


I08 ^flSS ETON OF EYOFT COUBT. 

have her. Of course I know that even a high spirit may 
be broken by working on the nerves and spirits and so 
on, but it mustn't be. If it is continued, you won’t see 
me again at Eyon Court. ” 

May I ask how you mean to live?” 

He bent forward and looked into her eyes. 

Don’t be anxious about that, dear. I have a better 
opinion of you than you have of yourself. You could 
not let harm come to me.” He took her hand and kissed 
it, but her face did not again soften. “Besides,” he went 
on, “what is the need of making the affair so sudden. 
You are trying to deprive Marjorie of what she believes 
to be her natural rights. Every girl likes the courting 
time of life. Your first plan was far more reasonable. I 
was in a hurry then, and you said to me, ‘ Be patient ; the 
girl will get so tired of the dulness here that you will have 
no trouble with her’ ; and I am bound to say that on my 
first appearance she received me very graciously, and I 
believe if she had not been coerced all would have gone 
well. Now you have put her back up.” 

“ It will have to come down,” said Miss Eyon, harshly, 
“ There you are again. You are a good and righteous 
woman, who rules her house with order, and who is 
called on by the clergy and subscribes to charitable in- 
stitutions' ; and I am a butterfly who never did a hand- 
stroke of work for myself or any one else ; but, Lord, I 
could not be hard on a poor little girl because she hap- 
pened to disagree with me in opinion. At least, I don’t 
think I could be hard on her. Time will show,” he said, 
meditatively; “now, if you want Marjorie^s back to 


COJSrSPIRATOBS. 


109 

Come down, stroke it down/' Miss Eyon turned her 
head away. You won't," he said laughing*, perhaps 
you can't. A man is better at that than a woman is. 
Will you leave her to me ? " 

told her I should do so." Miss Eyon did not look 
round, and her tone sounded sulky. 

Yes, but that is not what I mean. I can do nothing 
while she remains at Eyon Court. Give me car/e blanche 
— let me take her away and manage her in my own 
fashion." 

‘‘You cannot take her from Eyon Court. She is my 
ward, and," she said suspiciously, fixing her eyes on him 
as if to discover his real meaning, ^^she is underage." 
But the idea was evidently acceptable, for she listened to 
him attentively when he went on : 

I have provided for that," he said, but a ward some- 
times runs away from a strict guardian, you know, and 
then meets with a protector or friend, or so forth, who 
occasionally becomes her husband, when he is of the 
male sex. Why should not you give Marjorie the chance 
of running away. I will be at hand as a good angel to 
see that she does not come to grief." 

Miss Eyon sat mute at first ; she frowned, for it cost 
her a good deal to alter any plan she had decided 
on ; but she had taken a dislike to Marjorie's pale sad 
face, and common sense urged upon her that if her end 
was attained the means did not greatly signify. She 
looked with a questioning expression at Mr. Brown's care- 
less attitude ; he was leaning back in his chair, his head 
on one side, while the fingers of his right hand pulled 


I lO 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT, 


g^ently at his fair whiskers ; she sighed, and she seemed 
restless and undecided, her hands moved aimlessly. 
When her eyes left Mr. Brown they seemed to be looking 
at something far away. 

''You wish her to be left free, as she was yesterday,” 
she said presently. 

"Yes,” he answered. 

Again Miss Eyon sat thinking with that far away look ; 
then she said abruptly : 

" How do you know that she will not make the best of 
her way to Sir George Wolffs. I fancy you would find 
him a serious obstacle to — to your marriage. ” 

" Tve thought of that too, but I shall be on the watch ; 
don’t you think I am a match for a young girl.? ” 

She gave him a look so full of uneasiness that he 
smiled. 

" What is the matter now .? ” 

"You will marry her, Richard,” she said earnestly. 
"Marry her privately, or you will get into trouble, as 
she is under age. Still, you have my full consent to such 
a marriage, and there is no one else to interfere, only you 
must promise that you will marry her without delay, 
Richard Brown.” 

"My dear Miss Eyon, what next? Of course, if she is 
willing, I will marry her. I shall only be too happy. ” 

"If she goes away with you she has no choice,” Miss 
Eyon said, slowly. "Certainly, no one else would be 
willing to marry her afterwards. ” 

He got up from his chair. 

"Consider yourself free from all further responsibility, 


COJSrSPIBATORS, 


1 1 1 


my dear madam, and leave the girl to her own devices 
after to-morrow. Till then you had perhaps better keep 
the doors as they are now. '' 

She looked at him admiringly, but she sneered too. 

You are so masterful that I wonder you don't rule 
the house entirely. I believe Hannah is right when she 
says you are master here. " 

He looked very angry. 

Hannah is a marplot ; she sets Marjorie against me, 
confound her ! she is always on the watch. I should 
have got more opportunities alone with the girl if that old 
prude had been less officious. If she were not so hard- 
featured, I should say her youth had taught her some 
lessons ; she's a regular watch-dog." 

He thought he had gone too far, for a slight flush rose 
on Miss Eyon's pale face ; she evidently did not like to 
hear blame of her old servant. 

^Hf you have nothing more to say, Richard, I will bid 
you good-night. You will find what I promised you in 
your room." 

He bent over her hand and kissed his thanks, for those 
words had a definite meaning for him, and then he 
opened the door that led into her bedroom. 

She gave him another suspicious glance. 

''No, I have not finished writing. You can leave me 
nere. " 

Her eyes lingered on him as he went to the other door. 
She sighed as he closed it behind him. 

" He is a dear fellow, " she said, ' ' and he will be thrown 
away on that nervous, small-natured child ; but dear as 


I 12 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


he is, I cannot quite trust him, I cannot leave him alone 
with my papers — the temptation might prove too 
strong/' 

She sat thinking for some time. 

By the terms of her father's will, the last survivor of 
his children, male or female, had power to leave the 
property to whom he or she willed. If Marjorie died 
first, her share reverted to Miss Eyon, 

Her life is perhaps no better than mine," she thought ; 

it would be wiser in every way if she stayed at Eyon 
Court." 

She stretched out her hand to the bell, and then she drew 
it back. She remembered that there was no one left to an- 
swer it. She could summon Hannah by another bell 
near her bed, but a hint was never lost on Miss Eyon. 
After what Mr. Brown had said of the old servant, she 
was unwilling to send a message to him by Hannah. 

^Hf you want a thing done, do it yourself," she said, 
and she put a white shawl that hung over her chair on 
her head and opened the door by which Mr. Brown had 
departed. 

There was no light in the passage outside. She came 
back and lit a candle, and then she went noiselessly along 
the passage, with her long gray skirt gathered up under 
her arm’. She stopped at the door of the young man's 
room and knocked. 

There was no answer ; she opened the door and 
went in. 

The room was empty, and as Miss Eyon looked round 
she saw that the portmanteau and all other signs of an 


COJSfSPIBATOBS. 


inmate had vanished — a pocketbook that she had placed 
on the table had also gone. Evidently Mr. Brown had 
left home to-night instead of waiting till morning. He 
was always sudden in his departures. 

Miss Eyon went back to the passage, but instead of stop- 
ping when she reached the study she went on up the steps 
and opened the door of the high narrow passage. She 
walked along this, holding her candlestick well in front. 
She looked much taller than she was, for the shawl had 
settled in a high peak above her cap, and when she 
passed through into the second gallery her head gear 
touched the top of the doorway. 

She stopped at the door of the barred room, bent her 
head and listened. The silence was deathlike. Miss 
Eyon bent down and softly opened the door. 

She listened again, but there was no sound. The fire 
still burned on the hearth, and a night light glimmered 
faintly on the dressing table. The bed curtains were part- 
ly drawn so as to hide the face on the pillow, but 
there was the outline of a figure beneath the coverlet. 
Still no sound of breathing. 

A strange dread came to Miss Eyon. She drew her 
shawl together and moved gently to the bed and drew 
aside the curtains. Marjorie's eyes were wide open, her 
lips were parted with terror. Miss Eyon let the curtain 
fall and reached the door more quickly than might have 
been expected ; but before she opened it there came a 
piercing shriek from the bed. 

This only served to quicken Miss Eyon's movements. 
She listened when she was once more safe in the passage. 


II4 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


but all was again silent. Then as she reached her room 
she smile with self-congratulation. 

It was fortunate that she was moved to that room/’ 
she said ; ‘‘no one else could hear that cry.” 

She wondered when she lay down in bed why she had 
dreaded to find Majorie dead instead of asleep. The girl’s 
death would simplify matters. 

“But it would have disappointed Richard, so perhaps 
it is best as it is ; the silly baby will go to sleep again and 
think she has seen a ghost.” 


AN ADVENTUBK 




CHAPTER XIII. 

AN ADVENTURE. 

Idle Tobias Horner sat smoking outside the Bladebone 
on Thursday morning. The weather was exceptionally 
mild for December, and only just now Mrs. Ray had 
been shaking her head and sighing. The buxom landlady 
had begun to kill her turkeys, and she said to the vagabond 

there wad be nobbut a green Christmas.'' 

Her forecast had not troubled Tobias. He smiled 
cheerfully at her, and answered that for those who lived 
out of doors a green bed was better than a white one ; " 
but when a drizzling rain began he looked serious, and 
rising he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, placed him- 
self under the shelter of the door-head, and stood there 
refilling his pipe. 

‘‘ Woonkers, t' lass mun be daft, wheer be she going ? '* 
he said presently, as Marjorie passed at a quick pace along 
the path below the inn. His curiosity was roused at 
seeing the girl out so early, but a wholesome fear of rheu- 
matism kept him from following her. 

She went so fast that she had not noticed him. She 
felt literally like a bird escaped from its cage, and she did 
not slacken her pace until a turn in the path hid her from 
the manor house and the village. She stood still beside 


1 16 MTSS ETON OF ETON COURT, 

a group of trees and drew a deep breath. She looked 
round her with delight ; it was so cheering to see the river 
and the beautiful valley, even through the driving shower 
of rain ; she pulled her hat over her eyes, and drew the 
bag she carried within the folds of her cloak so as to 
shelter it. 

am free,'' she said. I shall never go back, thank 
God, to that terrible house." 

She trembled so for a few moments that she leaned 
against one of the trees. 

She had soon recovered from the shock of Miss Eyon's 
visit to her bedside. Her hearing, sharpened by terror, 
told her that the retreating footsteps along the carpetless 
gallery were those of a living person, and when she heard 
the door at the end close, she decided that her aunt had 
been spying on her. 

The day that followed that night had been a silent one. 
Miss Eyon had only spoken a few words to her when 
they met at luncheon and at dinner time. When she 
said good-night as she retired to her study, Marjorie 
thought she said it more kindly than usual, almost as if 
she knew it to be a final leave-taking, and then the girl 
had hurried to her own room to pack. 

She filled her boxes with her various possessions, locked 
them, and put the key in her pocket, having first left out 
a few necessaries for the bag she meant to take with her, 
but all this occupied some time. She had, however, al- 
most finished when Hannah tapped at the door. Marjorie 
had bolted it by way of precaution, and she did not know 
what to do. She dared not let Hannah in to see the 


AN ADVENTURE. 


117 

empty wardrobe and book shelves, and yet she wished 
to say good-bye to her. 

‘‘ I can't let you come in, Hannah," she said. ^H'll say 
good-night through the door, and thank you." 

‘Ht seemed to her that Hannah lingered, but she did 
not again ask to come in. 

Marjorie waited till she heard her go away, and then, 
tired with the excitement which had possessed her since 
her talk with Mr. Brown, she resolved to go to bed. 

At first she slept soundly, but she suddenly awoke. 
The fire was out, but there was a faint glimmer from the 
night-light, and a strange awe crept over her — she felt 
convinced that something stood between her and the 
dressing-table on which the light was. She could not dis- 
tinguish even a shape, but she seemed to know that her 
dead uncle. Aunt Louisa's brother John, was looking at 
her. There was no sound, and yet a noiseless message 
seemed to come into hsr ears. It bade her stay at Eyon 
Court, it told her she was safer there than she could be 
with Mr. Brown. To stay where she was was the path 
of duty, to escape in this clandestine fashion was — The 
vision ended. 

Marjorie did not know whether she had become uncon- 
scious from terror or whether she fell asleep, the sudden 
blank baffled her, but she started awake again and again 
in sudden fear, hiding her head under the bed-clothes and 
shaking from head to foot, till at last feverish, fitful sleep 
came once more. 

Her night warning had left, however, no abiding effect. 
She woke as soon as it was light, and left her bed resolved 


1 18 MISS ETON OF ETON COUBT. 

that she would not sleep again in that hateful house. She 
dreaded that if she stayed at Eyon Court her aunt might 
lock her in her bed-chamber, and something warned the 
girl that if this happened she might share the fate of the 
poor crazed child, and lose her reason in the barred room. 

Yet now, as she reached the point opposite the river, 
and began to descend towards the water — less bright than 
she had sometimes seen it, for the clouds lowered darkly 
overhead — Marjorie suddenly felt that she was acting 
rashly. The bridge lay below her, there was no one to 
be seen, why should she not keep on this side of the Yore. 
She was free, there was no one to hinder her, and she 
thought that if she could walk so far, she might perhaps 
get a carriage at Masham. She had looked this place out 
on the map when she began to feel the dulness of Eyon 
Court oppressive, and she knew that it was on the way to 
Ripon. 

She hesitated. Till now she had never been called upon 
to act for herself ; and both her mother and Mrs. Locker 
had held old fashioned ideas about the behavior of young 
women. Marjorie felt very timid as she tried to realize 
the unknown dangers that lay before her ; for Yoredale 
was then a comparatively lonely region, without railways 
or tourists. 

Marjorie argued, it would be unkind, and ungrateful, 
too, to let Mr. Brown take all this trouble for her and 
then to play him false, just because she had had a dream. 
The fresh air was helping her nerves, and the memory of 
her terror had become fainter since she had lost sight of 
the gray manor house. She looked along the valley. 


AN ABYENTUEE. 


119 

There was no sign of a village, and for aught she knew 
Masham might be still a great way off. It would be im- 
possible for her to reach Selby that night ; it would be 
worse to find herself benighted among strangers than with 
Mr. Brown. She remembered that he had been amused at 
the idea of a halt ; he said he would take her to Selby the 
same evening. 

She felt ashamed of her own distrust, and went on reso- 
lutely towards the bridge. She had soon crossed it, and 
began to mount the road which led up to the ruined castle 
and the village at its foot. Long before she reached the 
first house she saw a lumbering carriage and a pair of 
horses coming towards her. It stopped, and then Mr. 
Brown got out. 

^^You are punctual,^' he said, as they shook hands; 
but he looked grave and Marjorie felt very shy of him. 
‘‘I thought this was better than picking you up at the 
Inn. The less observation we attract the better for your 
sake and for mine too, for I suppose I run some risk in 
assisting a ward to escape from her guardian.'" 

He turned and led the way to the carriage. ''Now if 
you will get in I will go outside," he said. 

This was a great relief to Marjorie. She could not have 
said why at the sight of the carriage she had felt so strong 
a dislike to the idea of Mr. Brown as a fellow traveller. 
His unusual gravity made her timid. 

She smiled as she seated herself in the shabby old 
vehicle. 

"You are sure we shall get to Mrs. Locker's to-night? " 
she said, as he fastened the carriage door. 


120 


MISS EYON OF EYON COURT, 


"'To-night/' he laughed, "we must try to get there 
before night. I want to reach London to-morrow by the 
midday train.’’ 

" How very kind he is," the girl thought. " I believe 
he has delayed his own business to help me." 

She leaned back in the carriage and closed her eyes. 
She felt full of relief and of thankfulness. Well, she had 
had a lesson. She had been quite willing to go to Eyon 
Court and to leave good, quiet Mrs. Locker, partly for the 
sake of change and partly because she longed to see the 
old home of the Lyons. " Dear Mrs. Locker ; if she were 
not so good she would triumph at my disappointment. I 
have been well punished for my curiosity," she told her- 
self. It would be such happiness to see her dear old friend 
again, and she thought of the delight it would be to sit at 
Mrs. Locker's feet and tell her all the adventures she had 
gone through. 

" Life seemed very dull at Eyon Court," she thought, 
"while it went on ; but looking back, a good deal seems 
to have happened in a short time." 

The carriage suddenly stopped, and she roused from 
her reverie, and looked out of the window. Something 
had happened now, for Mr. Brown had got down from 
the box seat, and was examining the foot of one of the 
horses. 

She drew in her head ; and then she noticed that the 
driver had turned on his seat, and was looking sideways 
at her with a sort of admiring leer. 

Marjorie was at once frightened and angry, and then 
she smiled. Of course this was only a hired man, she 


AN ABVENTUBE. 


I2I 


told herself, and her companion could not be answerable 
for his behavior ; but she was glad to see Mr. Brown drop 
the horse's foot and get upon the seat again beside the 
obnoxious driver. 

They went at a slower pace, however, and the way 
was so rough that jolts were frequent. They had turned 
into a narrow road with a high bank on one side, and on 
the other a bare rocky wall, which seemed to have flung 
down fragments from its surface on to the road, for this 
became rougher and rougher as the carriage jolted slowly 
along. At last the bank dwindled to a mere ridge, and 
the road, instead of following on beside the stony cliffs, 
proceeded to take its way across a broad waste. This 
looked very wild to Marjorie. There were scarcely any 
trees, and the hills before them were distant. The girl be- 
gan to feel hungry, and it seemed to her they would have 
to drive a long way before they reached a halting place. 
Surely, she thought, they would need fresh horses. 

Presently, to her surprise, the carriage left the road, 
which had been smoother since they had got on to the 
waste, and turned into what looked like a mere foot-track 
between the gorse and the heather. The jolts began 
again, and Mr. Brown got down and walked on in front, 
looking round him. 

‘‘Have we lost our way ; Marjorie thought, and she 
grew uneasy. She wondered why Mr. Brown had not 
taken the road by which her post-chaise had brought her 
from Ripon to Eyon Court ; that had seemed direct enough, 
and she remembered that they had changed horses at 
Masham. 


122 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


She looked out of the window. Mr. Brown was some 
way in front. She beckoned and called to him. He did 
not seem to see or hear her, although he was now looking 
back. At that moment the carriage jolted violently, and 
Marjorie drew in her head. A loud oath from the driver, 
the sound of a crash, and then the carriage fell over on 
one side. 

For a minute all was confusion ; then came Mr. Brown's 
voice. 

He had climbed up on the prostrate vehicle, and was 
trying to open the door. 

‘‘ Are you hurt? " he said, anxiously. 

I don't think so." 

‘ ^ Don't be frightened, " he went on, cheerfully. ' ‘ There's 
nothing serious ; it will delay us a little, that's all. So 
long as you are not hurt it does not signify." 

With his help, Marjorie soon scrambled out among the 
gorse. ^^Are you sure you are not hurt," he said anx- 
iously. 

‘M'm all right, thank you," she laughed as she spoke. 

A front wheel was off the carriage, and one of the horses 
lay on the ground. 

The driver was bending over it, trying to coax it to 
rise. 

do not wonder we upset, "the girl said, as she looked 
at the uneven ground. ‘‘Surely the driver was in fault. 
We ought to have kept to the road." 

“Yes, confound him," Mr. Brown said; “that is just 
what I told him. I'll have my own way when we start 
again." He looked perplexed. 


AN ADVENTURE. 


123 


''What are we to do? '' she said. 

"That is exactly what I am asking myself. The fel- 
low says the next town is six miles off. I could soon 
be back with a fresh carriage if I took one of the horses, 
but I don't know what to do with you." There was a 
pause. Then he said : "Should you mind being left with 
the driver ? If I send him, he'll not be back for hours. 
Shall you mind, eh ? " 

Marjorie glanced at the man as he stood by the pros- 
trate horse, and she thought she had never seen such an 
evil-looking face. She wondered that Mr. Brown could 
propose to leave her in such a plight. 

"I cannot stay with him," she said, decidedly, in a 
low voice. "I will walk along the road you take, and 
I shall meet you as you return with the carriage." 

" Wait.a minute," her companion said. 

A little way further over the moor the ground rose, and 
he hurried to this point and stood looking round him. 
Presently he beckoned to Marjorie, and when she joined 
him she saw rather below them, about a quarter of a 
mile further, a sort of farm-house or cottage standing by 
itself on the moor. 

" I think I know where I am now," he said. " I was 
shooting in these parts last year, and I am nearly sure 
that I put up at that cottage in a storm of rain, and spent 
the night there. It was quite a tidy little house then, 
and if the same people live there it wouldn't be half a bad 
place for you to wait in while I am away. I don't fancy 
leaving you alone on the high road. Some gypsy tramp 
might frighten you to death. Poor child ! " he said 


124 


MISS EYON OF FYON COURT, 


kindly, am so sorry. You have had frights enough 
of late.^' 

‘^Well, never mind,'' said Marjorie, ^Mt's only an ad- 
venture. Let us go and see. If I don't like the look of 
the people I need not stay there." 

‘'Of course not. I'll just tell the driver where we are 
going." 

He retraced his steps to the disabled carriage, and 
after a few minutes' talk with the driver, he came back 
to Marjorie and led the way across the moor to the cot- 
tage. 


MB. BROWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 


125 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MR. BROWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 

The light had become dim ; looking over the moor the 
hills that made its horizon could not be separated from 
the clouds, and these looked still charged with rain, al- 
though there had been showers ever since Marjorie 
started in the morning. 

She was standing at the cottage window looking out 
over the waste. A monotonous olive tint had spread 
over everything, robbing the scene — as middle age is apt 
to rob a face — of all color and delicacy of outline. 

Just now the driving rain spread a gauze-like veil over 
moor and furze and heath, and increased its sad monotony. 
When Marjorie reached the cottage she had been pleased 
with the look of the woman who came to the door and 
with her manner in answering Mr. Brown. He had only 
come for a minute or so into the stone-floored room which 
opened by one of two inner doors from the entrance. 
There was no passage, these inner doors being set at 
right angles, and the woman had opened the right hand 
one. Mr. Brown went in and looked round, then he 
placed the only arm-chair in front of the fire and set an 
old footstool before it. will be as quick as I can,” 
he said, ^‘but I may not get back under three hours, 


126 MISS ETON OF ETON COUBT, 

these country people are so slow compared with Lon- 
doners. '' 

He said three hours — and he has been gone more 
than four/' Marjorie thought. Mr. Brown had told the 
woman to give the lady some lunch, but Marjorie felt too 
restless to have appetite for the broiled ham and eggs set 
before her. She was a good deal shaken by the upset. 
She tried to talk to the woman, but she was either shy or 
silent, and she went away as soon as she could. The 
room was clean, but its freshly whitened walls were bare. 
There were a few tattered books on a shelf in one corner, 
and a three-sided cupboard in another, but the cupboard, 
although it looked interesting, having brass mountings 
and hinges, was locked, and the books were so thumbed 
and greasy that Marjorie could not make up her mind to 
handle them. She became more and more uneasy. 

There was an old cracked owl on the mantle-shelf, blue 
and white, with a Latin inscription, and about an hour 
ago she had found at the bottom of this an ivory cup and 
ball, yellow with age. When she had blown off the dust, 
this looked fairly clean, and Marjorie hailed it as a means 
of passing the time. 

But she had tired of this resource, and now the evident 
coming of darkness changed her uneasiness into fear. 
She began to think that Mr. Brown had met with an acci- 
dent. He was riding without a saddje ; the horse had 
perhaps thrown him. Earlier in the afternoon she had 
thought of sallying forth to meet him, when the sun shone 
out brightly between the showers ; but as she opened the 
door she saw the obnoxious driver sitting in front of the 


MR. BROWN SHOWS HIS HAND, 


127 

cottage, smoking. Her fear of this man was so great that 
she could not bring herself to pass close by him when 
Mr. Brown was no longer present to protect her, and she 
quietly retreated. After all, she reflected, the showers of 
rain came so suddenly that she might be drenched before 
she met Mr. Brown. 

Another hour went by, and now it was so dark that the 
woman came in with a pair of lighted candles in two tall 
brass candlesticks. 

^^Theydonnut give much light,'' she said, ‘^but the 
lamp is out o' gear." 

She was leaving the room again when Marjorie stopped 
her. 

‘H am sorry to trouble you so long," she said, nervous- 
ly, ^^but — but if the gentleman should not come back, 
will you let me stay the night here } " 

Surely," the woman said. ^^T'room is fettled, an' 

Ah thowt " Then she stopped and looked foolish. 

‘^Ah hev' nobbut ae room," she said, ‘T' driver he mun 
sleep i' t' stable." 

Marjorie shivered. It made her uneasy that this man 
should stay under the same roof with her. 

Do you live here alone } " she said. 

The woman looked hard at her, and was about to an- 
swer ; then, seeming to recollect her caution, she went 
out of the room. 

Another hour went by, the candles gave a miserable 
light, and Marjorie felt glad the room was so bare and 
small ; it was not easy to fancy terrors in the dark corners. 

She began to wish she had followed her impulse this 


128 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT 


morning ; if she had walked to Masham instead of going 
on to meet Mr. Brown, she could certainly have found a 
carriage there, and although she was hazy about the rest 
of the journey, she felt sure that it would have been better 
to sleep at an Inn on the road, than in this lone cottage 
on the moor. But even while she thought this, she felt 
how ungrateful she was. After all, Mr. Brown had be- 
haved well, he had not attempted to force his company 
on her, and it was, no doubt, not his fault that he did not 
come to help her. 

Marjorie had scarcely ever felt so glad as when, soon 
after this, she heard Mr. Brown's voice. 

He did not come in at once, he went into the other 
room and closed the door ; but it was such a relief to feel 
that he had come back. 

In about five minutes he joined her. 

He came forward and shook hands warmly, as if they 
had not parted only a few hours before. ‘‘How are you 
now.? I am so glad to be with you again." He looked 
at her anxiously while he held her hand. 

Marjorie did not draw her hand away. 

“ I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," she said, 
brightly. “ I have been fancying all sorts of horrors." 

“Well," he said, “ let us sit down and I'll tell you all 
I've been doing ; you see it is so much too late to go on 
to-night that I brought back some supper with me, and 
the woman is cooking it." 

‘ ‘ I expected I should have to sleep here ; but how shall 
you manage ? " 

He shrugged his shoulders. “The woman says I can 


MB. BROWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 


129 

have a mattress here or an old sofa in the kitchen. I think 
I prefer a chair to either. '' 

am so sorry/' Marjorie said. ‘^What trouble I 
have caused you. Now I want to hear your adventures ; 
will a carriage come for us to-morrow ! " 

He nodded, and Marjorie drew her chair nearer the fire, 
with a sensation of comfort she had not expected to feel 
in that dismal little white-washed room. He sat down 
beside her and began his story. He had not been able 
to find a vehicle in Empsay, the town to which the driver 
had directed him, and before he came to the next likely 
place the horse he was riding fell lame, and he had been 
forced to leave it behind him. He had found great diffi- 
culty in engaging a vehicle. 

''You will have to put up with an open dog-cart," he 
said. " I have settled for it to come in the morning. 
Then I waited an hour or so for the stage-coach, which 
happened to be later than usual, and only brought me 
to within a couple of miles of the cottage. I assure 
you the way on the moor was not easy to find in the dark- 
ness ; if there had not been a light in the window I must 
have missed it. Now I am going to see if soap and 
water can be had." 

While he was gone the woman came in to lay the 
cloth, and an appetizing whiff of roasting birds came in 
along with her. Marjorie asked if she could see her bed- 
room. The woman took one of the candles from the 
table and opened a door which Marjorie had taken for a 
hanging closet when, earlier in the day, she had peeped 
inside. The back of the closet formed a second door, 


130 


MISS ETON OF ETON COVET. 


and this being opened, showed a ladder-like flight of 
steps, up which Marjorie followed her guide into a fair 
sized bedroom. There was no door, but a handrail and a 
low wooden gate at the top secured the square well of 
the staircase from the chance that a child or an unobser- 
vant adult might fall down it. 

The room was larger and better furnished than Marjorie 
had expected. It looked clean, she thought, and she was 
surprised to see that the woman produced from under 
her arm two fine linen towels. 

Are those nice towels yours ? ” the girl said. 

‘‘No.'' The woman set down the candle on the dress- 
ing table, and having put a cake of soap on the wash- 
stand she went downstairs and closed the door below. 

Marjorie felt sure that the towels were fresh proofs of 
Mr. Brown's kindness, and when she looked at the soap 
she put that also down to his account. The woman had 
carried up her bag, and it was very refreshing to wash 
her face and hands and then to make her hair more 
orderly. 

Some one knocked at the door below and then Mr. 
Brown called out : 

“ Supper's ready when you are." 

“It is really goodfun after all," Marjorie thought. 

“I wonder what sort of knives and forks they have in 
a place like this " 

She went downstairs, candle in hand. The woman 
was bringing in a dish of fish, which Mr. Brown, as he 
helped it, declared to be capitally boiled. This was fol- 
lowed by partridges, and then Mr. Brown produced a 


MR. BROWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 


131 

bottle of champagne, which he said he had brought in 
honor of Marjorie's escape. 

‘^Champagne the girl exclaimed; ‘‘how could you 
find it in an out of the way town.’ 

He was bending over the bottle as he drew the cork, 
and he did not feel it necessary to tell her that he had 
brought the wine from Eyon Court. There were no 
wine glasses; he poured out half a tumblerful of cham- 
pagne for Marjorie. 

“I never drink wine," she said, “except on birthdays. 
Well, I suppose this escape from prison is a sort of birth- 
day, only I should not like it to come round every year." 

He looked mystified. 

“That means you will soon forget all about it and me 
also." 

She looked at him gratefully. “You know that is not 
possible, you have been so very kind." 

“I am glad to hear it." He spoke as if he were 
wounded. “ I had an idea that you meant to snap your 
fingers at me as soon as you were safe with your old 
friends. " 

He re-filled his glass, emptied it, then filled it again, 
and tossed that off as if he were very thirsty. 

“How refreshing it is," he said. 

“You must have a very bad opinion of me," Marjorie 
said. “ Why you have been kinder to me than almost 
any one I ever knew." 

He waited to answer; the woman had come in and was 
clearing the table. 

“You can leave the wine and shut the door." He 


MISS EYOJSr OF EYON COURT, 


132 

shivered as if he felt the draught that came rushing in at 
the open door. ‘‘Bring in a few logs/' he said, “and 
then if we want anything more I will let you know." 
He turned to Marjorie and said, “You will never get 
warm as long as she comes in and out, leaving the door 
open ; those sort of people always leave the door 
open. " 

Marjorie smiled ; she had moved to the fire-place, and 
she thought Mr. Brown must be more, chilly than she was. 

The woman brought in the wood, and then they heard 
her putting up a bar across the great front door. 

“This is cosey; a pleasant finale to our day." 

Mr. Brown drew a chair beside Marjorie's, and warmed 
his hands at the fire. Then he rose and poured some 
more wine into her glass. 

“No, thank you," she said, when he handed it to her. 

“ It will do you good, and keep out the cold." He put 
the glass to her lips. 

“No, indeed," Marjorie said. “I will not." 

“Well, then, it shall not be wasted," and he drank off 
the wine. “ If I have been as kind as you say, Marjorie, 
why are you not rather kinder to me, eh .? " he looked 
hard at her. 

For the first time since her companion's return to the 
cottage the old feeling of distrust came back to Marjorie. 
He was looking at her in the way she disliked ; the same 
bold, admiring stare that had more than once offended her 
at Eyon Court. 

She thought it was best to treat his words lightly. 

“Certainly I have not been unkind to you," she said. 


MB. BBOWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 


133 

I have actually run away from Eyon Court in obedience 
to your wish/' She smiled at him. 

‘‘Ah, that is pleasant hearing, that is something like. 
You are a dear little girl, and you will not run away from 
me as you did from Aunt Louisa, will you ? That is all 
right." 

“Why should I ? " said Marjorie, gravely. He looked 
at her so confidently that she began to think the cham- 
pagne had excited him, and she put on a repressive man- 
ner. “ If I had wanted to run away, I could have done 
so this afternoon.'^ 

She looked full at him as she spoke. Her vexation had 
brought a flush on her delicate skin, and had darkened 
her bright eyes. 

Mr. Brown had never thought Marjorie so charming as 
she looked at this moment, and he became impatient of 
his own caution. 

“I am very grateful, believe me." He took her hand, 
but she drew it resolutely away. “I look on your con- 
fidence to-day as an earnest of the trust I want you to 
feel in me. Marjorie, dearest, I must say what is in my 
heart ; won’t you trust me wholly. Come with me to 
London and let us get married there." 

Marjorie rose up and stood with her hand on the back 
of the chair. She was very much alarmed, and her only 
idea was to get away from Mr. Brown as quickly as pos- 
sible ; but it seemed to her that he had lost his senses and 
that she must not irritate him. 

“I can not do that, and you do not mean what you 
say, Mr. Brown. I am tired, so I will say good-night." 


134 


3nss EYON OF ETON COURT, 


He laughed, but he did not rise from his chair 

‘‘Sit down and be reasonable, dear girl,'' he said. 
“You shall go to bed very soon, but I want you first 
of all to understand me, and also your own position. My 
dear child, you look as lovely as an angel — there, don't 
be angry, darling ; I am very sorry to hurry you. I know 
it isn't right to press you in this way ; as I told Miss 
Eyon, coercion in such matters is always a mistake. I 
think a girl should be won slowly or quickly, according 
to her temperament. I have studied you, sweet one, and 
but for your aunt I would have given you months to 
tyrannize over me. Well, well, you shall have oppor- 
tunity by and by. " 

The girl thought he must be talking nonsense, — she 
moved quickly across the room, but Mr. Brown reached 
the door leading to the stairs before she did. 

“Come, come," he said, “I call that a breach of trust. 
You shall go to bed when I have explained myself, but I 
ask leave to do that. Miss Marjorie Eyon. I advise you 
not to drive me to desperate measures." 

He drew himself up and stood looking very proud and 
handsome, with his back against the door. 

“Desperate measures I don't understand you, sir." 

She was flushed and panting with indignation. 

“ Sit down and quiet yourself," he said sternly. “ Do 
you not call it a desperate measure that I am obliged to 
compel you to stay in this room against your will ? " 

Marjorie looked at him ; she thought he was frowning ; 
his expression was like Miss Eyon's; she all at once re- 
membered Hannah’s caution not to offend Mr. Brown, 


MB. BBOWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 


135 

but she did not know how to act without giving him 
cause of offence. 

She sat down, however, moving her chair further from 
his, and he came back to his seat beside the fire. 

‘'I begged your aunt,” he spoke in his usual quiet, pleas- 
ant voice, as if nothing unusual had happened, '‘to leave 
you in peace, but it seems she had become tired of hav- 
ing you with her — very bad taste on her part, wasn't it ! ” 
he said cheerfully. " I must own to you, my dear girl, 
that I had been vain enough to fancy you did not dislike 
me. You enjoyed that waltz now, didn’t you.? You have 
enjoyed my company, or was it all a make-up and a 
sham .? Don’t tell me, child, that you are a sham or I 
shall never believe in another woman — you did enjoy it, 
didn’t you .? ” 

"Yes, I enjoyed the waltz,” then she added timidly in 
fear of his anger, "but that was because I so enjoyed 
dancing. ” 

He made a low bow. 

"Thank you. Mademoiselle, I cannot be too sufficiently 
grateful for your candor : and in the same way am I to 
conclude that you have tolerated my company because 
it gave you an opportunity of using your tongue .? ” He 
said this bitterly ; then with a sudden change of voice he 
added laughing. "Aha, little deceiver, I have caught 
you tripping. If I am no more to you than a machine 
with which you dance, or an automaton to which you 
can speak, why were you at such pains to adorn your 
charming self in my honor. Aha,” he clapped his hands 
gayly, " I have you there, you cannot deny it,” he ex- 


136 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 

claimed joyously, as she blushed and looked confused 
under his gaze. 

‘‘Forgive me,'' he said tenderly. “You must indeed 
forgive me, for I cannot help it. I love you, darling, 
with all my heart and soul ; and yet see how patient I 
am in spite of my impatience. The long and the short 
of it is you will be wise to do as I wish. There is no 
one to help you. The woman there will not interfere 
with me whatever happens ; and yet, see, sweet child, I 
do not even take your hand. Be pitiful, Marjorie. I 
only ask you to say ‘ I love you, Richard, and I will be 
your wife,' /hen all will be right and easy." 

Marjorie sat still as if under a spell. It seemed to her 
that she knew by heart every word before it came. She 
saw how completely she was in this man’s power, and 
that she must weigh the words she uttered. 

“You contradict yourself," she said at last. “You 
are trying to do just what you blamed Miss Eyon for do- 
ing, and yet you expect me to like you when you know 
how wretched that sort of thing made me at Eyon 
Court." 

“Clever little girl," he said admiringly. “You have 
just brought me to what I wish to explain. Jf Miss Eyon 
had listened to me earlier, you might have got to tolerate 
Eyon Court, while you learned to love me well enough, 
to wish to leave it in my company. I consider your 
aunt has driven you into this fatal position, and you see, 
unless you become my wife, well — “he stretched out his 
long legs and pulled at his soft whiskers — “upon my 
soul, Marjorie, I don't see any other way open to you." 


MU, BBOWN SHOWS II IS HAND. 


137 

‘^What do you mean? What is to prevent me from 
going straight to Mrs. Locker to morrow ? '' She forgot 
her caution, and added, impatiently, ‘‘If we had taken 
the right road this morning, we might have reached her 
to-night It was your fault ; you should have made the 
driver keep to the road.'' 

Mr. Brown helped himself to the rest of the wine ; he 
shook his head. 

“ Dear little soul, it is getting fractious. It must not, 
for it looks so distractingly pretty that I might forget my 
good behavior, and " 

She gave him such a look of contempt that he stopped. 

“Look here," he said, “we must end this. I have 
been very patient. I have behaved better than one man 
in a thousand would, and instead of rewarding me, you 
give yourself airs, and say unkind things. It is, therefore, 
better to speak plainly. You are nineteen, Marjorie Eyon, 
and therefore you are not quite a child, and you have 
shown me that you have plenty of sense. Listen to me ; 
do you really suppose that a girl can elope with a man, 
and pass a night under the same roof with him — remember, 
there are witnesses who can prove this — and then go on 
her way as if nothing had happened to her. You have 
put yourself, by your own act, into a very equivocal posi- 
tion. Well, instead of taking advantage of you, I 
have behaved in a strictly honorable way, and I ask you 
to marry me. You have only to say ‘Yes,' that is all I 
ask you to do." 

She had turned white while he spoke. Innocent as she 
was, she understood his words, and she had a dim feeling 


138 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 

that shame and disgrace might henceforth attach to her. 
She put her hand up to her forehead. It seemed as if 
everything was becoming confused. Yes, she saw that 
what he had said was true, and oh, how horrible it was. 
How could she have waited so tamely for his return. If 
she had gone out and searched, she might have found a 
refuge where he could not have followed her. Even now 
she did not wholly suspect him, she only thought it was 
base of him to take advantage of the position in which 
she was placed by this accident. All at once she remem- 
bered the woman ; she believed that she would protect 
her, let Mr. Brown say what he would. 

She jumped up and hurried to the door. 

Mr. Brown did not attempt to follow her this time. She 
went out and opened the door into the other room. 

The woman was half asleep, sitting before the fire. 

I want to stay here ! Marjorie said. 

The woman roused herself, and got up from her low 
seat. She stepped back from the girl, and Marjorie’s 
scared face reflected itself in hers. 

‘Nay,” she said, go back to your man, poor lamb. 
He means no wrong by you, poor daft soul.” 

‘ I don’t want to go back. I must stay here with 
you. ” 

Instead of answering her, the woman went out and 
called to Mr. Brown. 

‘ You must come, master,’ she said. “ T’ iit is on her ; 
’tis t’ first she’s had, poor lamb.” 

Marjorie stared, she felt stupefied. 

Mr. Brown came forward ; he took her hand gently, 


MR. BROWN SHOWS HIS HAND. 


139 

but very firmly, and led her back to the other room, while 
the woman closed the door behind them. 

have told her you are my wife, and that you are of 
weak intellect. Do you know, my angel, that if you don’t 
come to your senses to-morrow, I am afraid I shall have 
to lock you up in the room above. ” 

'"You would not dare,'’ she said, passionately. 

Do you think so ? " 

Then he let go her hand, which she had been strug- 
gling to snatch away from his, and stood looking at her, 
with a very unpleasant smile. His face had flushed, and 
his eyes shone. Marjorie felt desperately frightened. 

You should never dare a man who loves you as I 
love you, Marjorie. It is a sort of challenge. I have a 
mind to accept it," and he made a step forward — then, as 
she shrunk back with a look of disgust, he went on. 
have dared a good deal already, and all for love of you, 
sweet Madge. Do you think we took the wrong road by 
accident, or was it by accident, think you, that the car- 
riage was overturned so gently that a mouse need not 
have been hurt in the tumble. See, naughty little girl, 
how much love will do. Love had already provided this 
shelter, and if you would only be reasonable, as well as 
kind, it might be a bower of bliss. To-night I have only 
asked you to say you will be my wife. To-morrow I 
may ask for more — everything depends on you, sweet 
one." 

Marjorie Had retreated to the wall, and now stood with 
bent head, her arms hanging limp on either side, the 
picture of despair. 


140 


3I1SS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


‘‘Well/' he said, I cannot be hard on you. I love you 
too much for my own peace. You shall have time to re- 
flect. A night will show you that I have spoken truly. 
I wish you good-night, sweet one.” 

He opened the door leading to the bedroom, and Mar- 
jorie hurried through it and up the stairs, feeling half dead 
with terror. 


GAGED. 


141 


CHAPTER XV. 

CAGED. 

A FAINT blue light came stealing into the bedroom, and 
fell on Marjorie's pale face as she sat sleeping in a chair. 

The first glimmer of dawn brought with it a chiller 
atmosphere, as if darkness had lent a material cover, 
which the coming of light stripped away. Marjorie had 
sat all night long by the window, wrapped in her fur-lined 
cloak, and at last she had fallen asleep in spite of her 
determination not to close her eyes ; but the cold touch of 
dawn awakened her. 

She looked round her with a scared, unrecognizing 
glance ; she could not remember this low ceilinged room 
with its carpetless floor ; but the sight of the stair-hole 
brought memory back to the point at which she had gone 
to sleep. 

She stood up and stretched herself ; she was very stiff 
and cold. She remembered that she had heard no sounds 
after she came up, except that a dog had barked under her 
window, and she went now to the stair head and looked 
to see if the two chairs she had let down last night, one 
on the top of the other, had been disturbed. No, they 
were there still, and Marjorie saw that no one could pos- 
sibly come up the stairs till the barricade was removed, but 


142 


mss ETON OF ETON COURT. 


she also saw that the chairs could be removed from below, 
for the door opened outwardly. Still this could not be 
done without some noise and trouble, for the chairs were 
large and clumsy and the doors were narrow. 

She had heard Mr. Brown draw two heavy bolts across 
the outer door after she left him, so that escape by that 
means was cut off. Last night she had not been able to 
see out of the window ; now she saw that it was higher 
from the ground than she had expected, and that the dog 
she had heard barking was chained to a kennel just below 
it. She opened the window and looked out. A mist lay 
over the moor and blotted out everything into a sea of 
pale gray. The dog was evidently watchful, for he came 
out of his house. As he looked up at her he yawned and 
cried out, and Marjorie shuddered at the sight of his deep 
red mouth and huge jaws, with their long, hungry-looking 
teeth. She felt that there could be no escape that way, 
unless, indeed, she could make friends with this fierce 

jailor. But even then she looked down and tried to 

guess at the distance to the ground. It was too far to let 
herself drop. She had read an old story in which the 
heroine tears her sheets into strips, and, knotting these 
together, lets herself down from a window ; but there was 
nothing in the room to which such a cord could be fast- 
ened — not even a bedpost. 

She closed the window softly. The country air had re- 
freshed her, but she shivered with cold. She looked at 
the bed, and she thought it seemed very clean and com- 
fortable. Almost wi'thout her will, nature took the lead. 
Marjorie mechanically unfastened her cloak, and lay down 


CAGED, 


143 

outside the bed, drawing the warm cloak over her, she 
almost instantly fell sound asleep. 

When Marjorie opened her eyes there was such broad 
sunshine that she felt dazzled, and the noise she awoke in 
confused her ideas. The dog was barking loudly under 
her window ; a deep grunting came from a pig-sty beside 
the cottage, but above all sounded a repeated knocking on 
the door at the foot of the stairs. 

Marjorie started up in haste, for she heard one of the 
bolts drawn back. 

What is it she called out. The door opened and 
she saw the woman carrying a tray. The woman re- 
treated when she saw the chairs. 

Here's t'breakfast, " she said, sullenly. 

Marjorie was very hungry, and she was anxious to keep 
her chairs on the stairs, as they formed her only means of 
blockade ; she drew up first one chair and then the other, 
but she found this much harder work than it had been to 
slip them down the opening. 

The woman looked at Marjorie's sleepy face and tum- 
bled hair, and then at the bed. The quilt was rumpled, 
but the bed did not look as if it had been slept in. She 
set the tray down on the dressing-table. Then she said, 
‘We'll be cauld here mebbe." 

“Oh, no," Marjorie said carelessly. She felt as if 
nothing would induce her to venture downstairs and face 
Mr. Brown. 

While she ate her breakfnst she thought over last night ; 
she was even more alarmed than she had felt at the time. 
She saw now why Mr. Brown had advised her not k) write 


144 


MISS JEYOJSr OF ETON COUBT. 


to Mrs. Locker ; and as she reflected on this, she wondered 
at her friend’s previous silence. More than a fortnight had 
gone by since she had received a letter from her, or from 
her friend Adelaide. 

A feeling of utter loneliness depressed Marjorie. It 
seemed to her that she might have died at Eyon Court 
and that no one would have known. 

‘‘Would they have cared ” 

She said this aloud, and the bitterness of her own tone 
shocked her. Before she went to Eyon Court it had been 
almost impossible to Marjorie to think hardly of any one. 

Her mother had been so gentle and indulgent that 
there had never been a dispute in her home life, and Mrs. 
Locker, who had been her governess, always seemed to 
be a sort of second mother to her when she went to live 
with her after Mrs. Eyon’s death. 

“Hannah said,” the girl thought penitently, “that 
because evil things had happened at Eyon Court there 
was evil stirring there ; I believe it. If I had not hard- 
ened my heart against Aunt Louisa she would perhaps have 
thought more kindly of me ; if I had not refused to listen 
to Sir George Wolff he would not have given me up. He 
and Mrs. Locker have both forgotten me, and I suppose 
I deserve it, or it would not have happened.” 

Tears' fell over her cheeks whilst she sat thinking. It 
seemed as if she dared not let her thoughts rest on last 
night. But when she had eaten her breakfast she felt 
cheered and strengthened ; she was able to think more 
calmly over what had happened and to decide on what she 
should do ; she must wait and watch ; there was evi- 


CAGED. 


H5 

dently no means of escape. The room in which she was, 
was in the front of the house, over the kitchen, so that 
even if she succeeded in pacifying the dog she could not 
escape unseen. At this thought of the dog she took a bit 
of bread and went to the window, meaning to begin her 
attempts at a friendly understanding with her outside 
jailer ; but as she opened the window Mr. Brown came 
round the corner of the house. 

Marjorie retreated, but he saw her and raised his hat. 
must watch and wait,'' she said, I can do nothing 
else. It is very wearying, but I may succeed in tiring 
him out." 

She dropped her chairs down the hole again to prevent 
any sudden intrusion, and then she washed and dressed 
herself. 

Mr. Brown was really more uncomfortable than she 
was. He had taken a short nap and then had kept awake 
nearly the whole of the night, patrolling the house and 
listening for every sound. He had not enjoyed those blessed 
snatches of sleep which had soothed Marjorie into forget- 
fulness. He felt that he was playing a desperate game, 
and anxiety did not suit his easy self-indulgent tempera- 
ment any better than the absence of his daily luxuries 
suited him physically ; and besides the discomforts and 
anxiety, there was the mortification of being obliged to 
confess that he had been foiled. It was confounding 
that this girl, whom he secretly believed to be fond of 
him, and whom he thought would be dazzled and pleased 
with the romance of an elopement, had shown such 
decided and unaccountable dislike to him. He felt that 


146 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


she considered him a scoundrel, and he thought himself 
a very clumsy fellow, for he could not see what advan- 
tage he had reaped from the trouble he had taken. His 
impatience, instead of hastening matters, had ruined the 
success of his scheme ; it had thrown him back for days, 
and perhaps weeks ; it had, perhaps, ended his hopes of 
possessing Eyon Court. 

'‘No,'' he said, sullenly, as he came in to breakfast. 
"I will not give in. I was never beaten yet; I swear 
she shall marry me if I have to keep her shut up a whole 
month. I suppose the little fool thinks I'm madly in love 
with her dainty self. Well, she's pretty enough, and 
bright enough, as women go, and she's worth some 
trouble to win, apart from her money. " 

Then he began his breakfast, and his hopes rose as he 
satisfied his hunger. 

After all, he thought, Marjorie was only a woman, and 
he knew what women were. "I ought to," he laughed, 
"seeing how much of my life I have given up to them. 
No woman ever baffled me yet, and it is not likely that I 
shall not manage this unsophisticated child of nineteen. 

I admit I was a fool last night, I was excited — perhaps I 
had better apologize and so reassure her — but for the 
present I will not attempt to see her." 

"He gave the woman of the house strict orders to keep 
the door bolted until he came back, and then he went for 
a walk over the moor. The mist still lay thick before 
him, but it had lifted a few feet, so that he could see 
where he was going. It was reassuring for the success 
of his plans, that after he had walked some distance, he 


CAGED. 


147 


had not met with another cottage. He knew the woman s 
husband was a convict, and Mr. Brown saw that the 
woman's greed for money insured her silence and her 
obedience. Even if Marjorie should try and bribe her, 
his fiction that the girl was his wife and that she was 
weak in the head would prevent the woman from help- 
ing any attempt to escape. 

'‘Here's a happy thought," he said. “ I mustn't leave 
a blot anywhere. I will tell Mrs. Poacher — I haven't the 
slightest recollection of her name — that if my wife offers 
her money she may take it and keep it, only she must 
tell me all that happens. 

If Marjorie did not soften after the apology he meant 
to write to her, he thought he would leave the cottage 
for a couple of days. Surely, if she could not endure the 
dulness of Eyon Court, she could not go on living con- 
fined to one miserable room. And yet when he came to 
the end of his plans he saw that it was a mistake to try 
coercion with a high-spirited girl. She might hate him 
for it. Would it not be far wiser and more politic if he 
set her free and threw himself on her generosity by 
ascribing all he had done to the ardor of his love. 

“Not to day, either," he said, as he walked on, his 
hands plunged deep in his pockets, “she would turn on 
me at once and ask me as a security for her confidence 
to take her to this confounded woman at Selby, besides, 
though it seems hard on her, I think a day's imprison- 
ment will bring her off the high stilts. I'll wait till the 
day after to-morrow." 

He stopped suddenly ; the mist was thicker here, for 


148 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 

the ground sloped into a hollow, and he was standing at 
the edge of what seemed to be a black tarn, with scanty 
reeds round its edge. Mr. Brown congratulated himself 
that he had come to the end of his cigar ; five minutes 
before, as he walked carelessly along smoking and think- 
ing, he might have plunged into the weird-looking pool. 

‘'And there is no saying how deep it may be,'' he 
thought ; “ it may be the top of a bog." 

There was something ghastly in the idea of a plunge 
into the cold slime, so far as he was from any chance of 
help. He would have been quite as helpless as Marjorie 
in the lone cottage. 

“Well," he said, as he turned back in that direction, 
“ I am not bad enough to behave as some men 
would in my place. I mean to marry her, and if the 
worst comes to the worst, and I can't get a willing con- 
sent, I shall propose to leave her free after the marriage. 
Miss Eyon has bargained that I call myself Eyon, so that 
Marjorie will not even have to change her name. Yes, 
I will be as generous as possible." 


JSIB QHOEGJC WOLFF. 


J-49 


CHAPTER XVI. 

SIR GEORGE WOLFF. 


Marjorie's friends had not forgotten her, although they 
had given no sign of remembrance. 

When Sir George Wolff left her on the moor, he re- 
proached himself for having once more asked her to 
marry him. 

If Marjorie wanted his help ever so mucH, she would 
now shrink from writing to him, lest she should give him 
a claim on her. He determined to see Mrs. Locker. He 
had known her a good many years ; first, as Marjorie's 
governess, and afterwards when the girl went to live in 
Mrs. Locker's house, near Selby. He knew that she was 
a quiet, gentle woman, quite unfit to cope with Miss 
Eyon ; but it seemed to him that at least one of her friends 
ought to watch over Marjorie's happiness. He had a 
strong conviction that it was unkind to leave her to the 
tender mercies of such a woman as her aunt. He re- 
solved, therefore, to go and see Mrs. Locker. She was so 
timid that he fancied personal influence would be needed 
to persuade her to visit Eyon Court without invitation. 

Since his talk with Marjorie, Sir George had suspected 
that a request for leave to visit her would only draw forth 


MISS EYON OF FYOJSf COURT. 


150 

a refusal from Miss Eyon, and would perhaps make her 
take measures to prevent any intrusion from Marjorie's 
friends. 

By the time he reached home, the baronet had become 
almost happy again in the plans he had formed to lessen 
the dulness of the girl's life. But the next morning 
brought business letters which entirely set aside his visit 
to Selby ; and there was also a letter from a friend, re- 
minding Sir George of a promise to give the writer some 
shooting on his moors north of the Tweed. 

Sir George was a keen sportsman, but his meeting with 
Marjorie had made him forgetful of his plans. He felt, 
however, obliged to write back accepting his friend’s pro- 
posal to meet him the following day at Jedburgh. One 
friend brought another, till Sir George had a houseful of 
guests in his ^'hut on the border," as he called the shoot- 
ing lodge, and as hospitality was one of his virtues, he 
could not easily free himself. He wrote to Mrs. Locker 
and suggested that she should go and see Marjorie with- 
out delay, and then he stayed on in Scotland. 

When the last of his guests had departed, the baronet 
went straight to Selby, before he even showed himself in 
his own house, Laleham. He was disappointed to find 
that Mrs. Locker had not been to Eyon Court, and she 
looked very grave when he repeated his proposal. She 
was a small, nervous woman, near-sighted, and stooping, 
and when Sir George said think it absolutely neces- 
sary for you to go to Eyon Court," she crouched together 
till her chin approached her knees, and she sat trembling 
under his amused eyes, while she declared herself unable 


SIR GEORGE WOLFF. 


151 

to do as he wished, ‘‘I am very sorry to refuse/' she 
said, “but I cannot face Miss Eyon." 

He smiled at her. 

“ Dear Mrs. Locker, I always say there’s no such word 
as Can't. Oh, yes, you will go to Eyon Court and I ex- 
pect you and Miss Eyon will get on famously. Think of 
our dear Marjorie and how glad she will be to see you, 
and I am sure your objections will come to nothing." 

There is often great strength in feebleness, and after 
some fruitless persuasion Sir George Wolff saw that it 
would be useless to send Mrs. Locker to Eyon Court. 
She would be no match for Miss Eyon's determination, 
and would probably allow herself to be sent away with- 
out having seen Marjorie. 

“Well," he said, “I am sure it would please Marjorie 
if you went, but if it cannot be, I must go instead. I 
suppose if I can get leave, I may bring her to you to stay 
a week or so." 

Mrs. Locker heaved a deep sigh of relief, and gave him 
an affectionate invitation for her child, as she called 
Marjorie ; and he departed feeling that he had been com- 
pletely worsted, and by a weak woman. 

‘ ' They are usually the most obstinate, " he said. ^ ^ They 
have not grasp enough to do anything really brave. A 
stronger woman would have tackled Miss Eyon with so 
much nerve and skill that the old woman would have 
been obliged to receive her. Well, I must beard the old 
lioness, I suppose." 

Mrs. Locker had complained to him of Marjorie's 
silence, and this added to Sir George’s anxiety. And now 


152 


mss i:yon of fyon coubt. 


he was on his way to Eyon Court two days after his visit 
to Selby, and he severely blamed himself for having 
allowed so much time to pass without making inquiry 
for Marjorie; the girl might be ill, she might have pined 
like a caged bird till she sickened from simple want of 
companionship and sympathy. He felt an angry disgust 
with himself at the remembrance of the weeks spent on 
the moors with his friends ; he had enjoyed himself, while 
this sweet child was drooping in that dismal old den of a 
manor house. He had heard a good deal about Miss 
Eyon, and he believed that her self-will was equalled by 
her craftiness. 

He must act warily, he told himself, when he got to 
Eyon Court. He had been there, his mother had taken 
him with her twice when he was a boy. Lady Wolff had 
been one of Miss Eyon's rarely admitted visitors, and 
while he waited for her, the boy had been allowed to ex- 
plore the old house, although he was never allowed to 
go into Mr. John Eyon's rooms. 

Twenty-five years had gone by since his last visit, but 
he had a distinct remembrance of the old rooms. 

His plan was, if there should be any hesitation about 
admitting him, boldly to follow the servant into Miss 
Eyon's presence. After all she must be a lady, and if he 
tried to conciliate her she could not well refuse to listen 
to him. His healthy, hopeful nature made Sir George 
confident of success, and he told himself that the look of 
Marjorie s face would teach him whether she ought to be 
allowed to remain with her aunt. As he rode along the 
terrace-path on the side of the wild and beautiful valley, 


SIR GEORGE WOLFF. 


153 


the gray weird manor house, perched like some fabled 
rock bird on its spur of granite, came in sight, and he 
realized that Miss Eyon must certainly have undisputed 
authority in this dreary, lonely region. He remembered, 
too, that she was Marjorie’s guardian, and for the next 
two years he knew that no one could withdraw the girl 
from her care unless indeed it could be proved that Miss 
Eyon ill-treated her ward. 

He sighed. If she were unhappy, Marjorie had promised 
to write to him. 

No, the only hope of rescuing her from this dull life was 
by persuading Miss Eyon that the girl needed change of 
air and scene. 

There had evidently been much rain, the road was so 
heavy, and the front wall of the Bladebone was so soaked 
in moisture that it looked a dismal, dank gray. The trees 
in the Eyon Court avenue were drenched so that they 
seemed to exhale damp ; and when he reached the house 
the steps, worn lower in the middle than at the sides by 
the feet of many generations of Eyons, held the rainfall 
in little dark pools in which the films of green moss 
showed a brighter green than they did on the drier parts 
of the stone. The house was gloomy and silent. Sir 
George got off his horse and fastened it to a ring beside 
the door. 

More like a tomb than a dwelling,” he thought, as he 
raised the heavy knocker. 

But he replaced it without knocking ; he rang the bell. 

The servants’ dinner had not been long over, and Bar- 
bara, the maid, was having a comfortable nap in the 


154 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 


housekeeper's room. Faith, one of the under-maids, 
happened to be crossing* the hall, and she, being younger 
than the other servants, suffered most from the dreariness 
of the unused, shut-up house. The sight of this fine hand- 
some gentleman, as she thought him, was cheering. It 
was no part of her duty to open the door for visitors, but 
she knew that Barbara was asleep, and she ventured. It 
was a change in such weather to see a strange face — and 
such a pleasant one. 

‘‘Is Miss Eyon at home ? " Sir George Wolff asked. 

Faith nodded. 

“ Eh, sir," she said, “ f mistress is to f house." 

“Is she quite well — not confined to her room, I 
hope ?" 

Sir George congratulated himself on what he considered 
a shrewd hit. He felt encouraged by Faith's broad, stu- 
pid-looking face. 

‘ ‘ Nay, t' mistress is in t' study. Shall Ah take up your 
name, sir, if you please !" 

“Yes, my lass. You can say Sir George Wolff, and 
I’ll follow you to save you trouble." 

Now this was an unfortunate remark. Faith knew that 
Miss Eyon seldom received a visitor, certainly she never 
saw a stranger, and when she found that the gentleman 
was following her she shouted out “ Barbara, Barbara ! " 
in a frightened voice. 

Hannah was also in the housekeeper's room and she 
roused Barbara from her nap. 

“ Barbara !" Faith called again, but this time from the 
landing outside the parlor door. 


Slli GEOBGE WOLFF. 


155 

Hannah followed Barbara to the stair-foot. She saw 
that the big burly woman was only half awake, and she 
was curious to know what had made Faith call out so 
suddenly. 

Faith stood with a scared face and outstretched hands, 
while Sir George, a few steps below, seemed to be try- 
ing to quiet her. 

Barbara charged upstairs ready to seize the intruder by 
the collar, but Hannah caught at her skirt. 

‘‘Whist, Barbara,” she said, “ Ah’ll speak wiv t’ gentle- 
man.” 

“ Gentleman !” said Barbara, hotly, and planting her 
doubled red fists on her hips she looked pugnaciously at 
Sir George. “Ah wad hev thowt nobbut a thief wad 
coom sneaking oop stairs wivout leave asked or given. 
Nay, yon's none a gentleman.” 

Sir George Wolff reddened, though he felt amused. 

“I should have waited, should I,” he said. “Well, 
my good woman, I dare say you are right, but you see I 
am in a hurry.” Then he turned from Barbara’s angry 
face to pale, stiff Hannah. 

“ I remember you,” he said. “I used to come here 
with my mother years ago. You are Miss Eyon’s own 
maid. I am Sir George Wolff, and I have urgent busi- 
ness with Miss Eyon ; will you take me to her at once ? 
I have no time for delay. ” 

A pang of sudden fear seized upon Hannah. This gen- 
tleman had brought news of Marjorie. The girl’s sudden 
disappearance had alarmed her, and the more because 


156 


MISS EYON OF ETON COVLT. 


the shock of the news, when she took it to her mistress, 
had not apparently alarmed Miss Eyon. 

Afterwards, when Hannah learned that Barbara had 
been bidden, very early on the morning- of Marjorie’s 
flight, to leave the door unfastened, she had guessed that 
the girl’s disappearance had not surprised Miss Eyon as 
it had surprised her. 

She longed to question Sir George Wolff, but only that 
morning Miss Eyon had forbidden her to speak of Mar- 
jorie to h3r or to any one. Hannah had lived with her 
mistress since she was fifteen, and she never disobeyed ; 
but she had suffered many misgivings on behalf of Mar- 
jorie. The idea of so tender a creature alone on the high 
road had afflicted Hannah and had driven sleep from her 
eyes, and now she felt that she was going to hear that 
some grievous harm had happened to this child, and all, 
as Hannah keenly felt, because she had been frightened 
past bearing. The old servant knew too much of Mr. 
Brown to think him a safe protector for a girl, even if 
Marjorie had left Eyon Court to join him. But while her 
stiff face became yet more sad and set, she was going 
along the passage to the study door. She had not bidden 
Sir George to follow her, but when she stopped he was 
close beside her. Hannah hesitated. 

‘‘Ah must tell t’ mistress you are asking for her,” she 
said ; “ you will wait here, sir, if you please.” 

She opened the baize door, but she did not close it, 
and Sir George placed his foot to keep it open. Then he 
pressed forward, and politely held the inner door open 


SIR GEORGE WOLFF. 


157 

for Hannah to pass in behind the screen that masked the 
room from prying eyes. 

Is that you, Hannah ? Come here ! '' Miss Eyon said, 
in such a harsh tone that the woman went in quickly, 
leaving the door to Sir George. 

^^What has happened and why was Barbara called for 
so loudly ? ” 

Sir George went forward ; Miss Eyon was sitting in her 
usual place, but at sight of him she flushed, she half rose, 
then sat down again, and a look of alarm spread over her 
face. 

''What does this intrusion mean She looked ques- 
tioningly at Hannah. 

‘' I beg your pardon. Miss Eyon,” Sir George said, and 
he smiled and bowed. "I believe I frightened your ser- 
vant by following at her heels, and she cried out. I 
must ask you to excuse my intrusion, but I want to speak 
to you on a matter of urgent business.” 

Miss Eyon had recovered herself. The flush faded 
from her face. She looked once more gray and statue- 
like. She stiffly bent her head, and then stared at him 
haughtily. 

" It would have been better to send in your name, sir.” 
She gave Hannah a severe look. " How was it that you 
did not tell this person to stay below till you had ac- 
quainted me with his name and his business } ” 

"It is Sir George Wolff, ma'am,” Hannah stammered 
and hesitated, " he was urgent to — to see you — I — I ” 

" Please don't blame your maid, Miss Eyon,” Sir George 
said, pleasantly. "You must forgive me. I was bent 


158 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 

on seeing you without delay, so I took my own way of 
doing it” Then he looked round for a chair — he was de- 
termined not to yield till he had said his say. may 
sit down, may I not?'' he went on, still smiling, ^Svhile 
I tell you what has brought me here ? " 

'' It is a mere form to ask my permission for anything," 
she said, harshly, while she looked at the screen behind 
him, when you have forced your way into my house 
and into my presence." 

He looked at Hannah, who stood beside her mistress 
like a sentinel on duty. 

Shall I speak out ? " he said, as he seated himself, 
"'or do you prefer hearing what I have to say in pri- 
vate ? " 

"You can go outside, Hannah," Miss Eyon said, sig- 
nificantly. 

When the door closed she looked sarcastically at her 
visitor. 

"Well, Sir George Wolff having honored me with this 
intrusion, let me hear your wonderful secret ; for it must 
be wonderful to cause Sir George Wolff to forget ordinary 
civilities. " 

There was such intense scorn in her look and tone that 
he was disconcerted for a minute or two ; he felt as if he 
could not cope with this terrible old woman. 

"My business relates to your great-niece, to Miss Mar- 
jorie Eyon," he said, abruptly. 

Evidently she did not expect this ; the scornful look 
faded ; there was a sort of eagerness in her tone as she 
said : 


SIE GEOEGE WOLFF. 


159 


‘‘Well, sir, what about Marjorie ? ” 

“ I wish to see her, if you please. I have brought an 
invitation for her to spend a few days with Mrs. Locker.'' 

“Is that your urgent business. Sir George Wolff? Fie 
on you. The mountain has truly produced a mouse." 

She made an attempt at playfulness, which did not 
match with her hard blue eyes and sneering lips. 

“ I will tell you, dear madam," he said, very earnestly, 
“ why I am anxious to have news of your niece. Some 
weeks ago I met her on the moor, and I thought she 
seemed sad and depressed. I fancy it must be dull for so 
young a girl to live entirely away from young companions 
of her own age. I thought that a week or two with Mrs. 
Locker and her old schoolfellows would cheer her." . 

It seemed to him that those blue eyes had pierced into 
his thoughts, he could not get free from the spell they 
fastened on him. 

“ I am surprised," Miss Eyon said slowly, “that you 
should interfere between me and my niece, and that you. 
Sir George Wolff, should think it necessary for Marjorie 
to havejyoung companions. " She paused, and when she 
saw that he avoided meeting her direct gaze, her sneering 
smile came back. “It appears that you did not judge it 
necessary for her to have a young husband." 

He reddened at this taunt. 

“I hope she is well," he said, “and that you will 
permit me to see her. She and I are very old acquaint- 
ances. " 

“ So I have heard. " Then, with deliberate emphasis, 
“My niece has been very frank with me." 


l6o ETON OF ETON COURT. 

He writhed under her smiling scrutiny. He felt that 
this cruel-faced woman enjoyed his discomfiture. At last 
he said firmly : ‘‘May I ask you, madam, to be kind 
enough to send for Miss Marjorie Eyon.'' 

At this she smiled again, but more genially. It seemed, 
as if she were about to have some joke with him as she 
slowly began to speak. • 

“It is unfortunate, but it is impossible. Sir George Wolff. 
By her own act I am well rid of a murmuring, fretful 
child " 

“Why do you speak so ill of her.? ’'he interrupted. 
“And what do you mean.? — has Marjorie left Eyon 
Court.” 

“You interrupted me just now. I was about to say 
that although jyou did not judge a young husband neces- 
sary for Marjorie, she has preferred to judge for herself. 
She left this house two days ago, and I believe that she 
has eloped with Mr. Richard Brown, my man of business. 
By this time I have no doubt he has married her. ” 

Sir George had risen from his chair. He came up to 
Miss Eyon, and fixed his eyes sternly on her. 

“Ido not believe it,” he said, hoarsely. “There is 
some double-dealing under all this. The child has not 
had fair play. Her life has been made miserable, and 
she has been driven away. Who is this Richard Brown ? ” 

Her eyes seemed to blaze with anger. She also rose 
from her chair and stood trembling with passion, while 
one withered ivory-colored hand grasped at the chair back 
for support. 

^^Who is Richard Brown? As good a man as you. 


SIR GEORGE WOLFF. 


i6i 


George Wolff, and young and handsome, and skilled in 
the ways that gain a young girl's love. Now, you know 
all I know about this self-willed child, and you will be 
good enough to leave me undisturbed." 

‘'I will go, madam, when you have told me how Mar- 
jorie made this person's acquaintance." 

Miss Eyon bent down and rang the hand-bell on her 
table. 

Hannah appeared from behind the screen. 

‘Wou will see this gentleman downstairs," her mis- 
tress said, and you will see the doors closed on him." 

And then she turned, and with surprising quickness 
passed into her bedroom by the door beside her chair, and 
closed it sharply behind her. 

Sir George Wolff followed Hannah like a man just con- 
demned to a heavy punishment. All joy and hope had 
gone from his life ; but even worse than this was his 
dread that Marjorie had fallen, perhaps, into more evil 
keeping than that c . Miss Eyon, of Eyon Court. 


i 62 


MISS EYON OF FYON COURT. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

SUSPENSE. 

It was the third day of Marjorie's captivity. All had 
been still since morning ; only the barking of the dog and 
the occasional grunt of a pig broke now and then into 
the tomb-like silence that surrounded her, and roused her 
out of the lethargy that had crept over her. 

As the day wore on she listened in vain for the sound 
of voices. She opened the window and looked out, but 
there was no sign of Mr. Brown. His cheerful whistle as 
he paced up and down below her window, smoking his 
cigar, had hitherto been sufficient warning to her that he 
had finished his breakfast ; but as she leaned out into the 
raw, damp air she could hear nothing but the grunting of 
the pigs, with now and then the far-off plaintive cry of 
the moor-fowl. 

The woman came with her dinner at mid-day, and Mar- 
jorie asked if Mr. Brown had left the cottage. 

But she got the same answer that she had received to 
previous questions — a shake of the head and a silent look 
of pity. 

Marjorie again thought of the old legend of Nicolette, 
and she wondered if she could not manage to fasten her 
cord in some way to the bedstead. It did not seem to 
her that the making of the cord would be difficult. She 
went to the window to calculate the depth, and was sur- 


SUSPENSIS, 163 

prised to hear suppressed talk going on below. She list- 
ened ; one voice was the woman's, but the other speaker 
was not Mr. Brown. 

Marjorie gently opened the window, but the dog heard 
the slight sound and set off barking. This naturally drew 
the attention of the speakers to the fact of something un- 
usual. The man below, leaning on the sill of the window, 
looked right and left and then overhead. Marjorie swiftly 
closed the window. She saw with disgust that this man, 
who had evidently been talking with the woman, was the 
obnoxious driver who had alarmed her by his looks on 
the journey. 

She almost wished that Mr. Brown would come back, 
and then a quick reflection showed her that it was he who 
had placed this man to watch her in his absence. There 
was no use in trying to imitate Nicolette. She had no 
hope of escaping in the dark because of the dog ; it would 
certainly arouse its fellow brute, as in her heart Marjorie 
termed the man who had just now leered up at her 
window. 

It seemed to the girl that she had been shut up in this 
room for longer than two days. On the first day, as she 
looked back on it, she saw that she had behaved like an 
angry child. She had cried and sobbed, and had run 
about the room ; and when Mr. Brown sent her a note, 
she had refused to read it, and had thrown it out of the 
window. Yesterday she had been left to herself, and she 
had sunk into a sort of stupor, partly from despak, but 
chiefly from want of air and sleep. Although she lay 
down part of each night on the bed, she did not undress 


1 64 ETON OF ETON COURT. 

till the dawn awakened her. It was so cold that she was 
glad to wrap herself in the bed-coverings, and she spent 
a good part of her time in walking up and down her 
room, like some wild creature in a cage, so as to keep 
her feet warm. 

On this third day of imprisonment, Marjorie roused to 
the consciousness that she had grown older and more res- 
olute ; she told herself that she would n marry Mr. 
Brown if he kept her shut up for a whole month ; she felt 
convinced that his profession of love for her was a false- 
hood ; he wanted to marry her because she was heiress 
of Eyon Court. 

Sir George Wolff, she told herself, had really loved her. 
He was rich, and could have no motive except love to 
make him wish to marry her. And how differently he 
had behaved ; even when he was deeply wounded by her 
refusal, he had asked her to rely on his friendship and 
his help. It was true that he had been silent when she 
had written for help ; but since she left Eyon Court, 
Marjorie had had more time for deep thought than she 
had ever had in her life, and she blamed herself now for 
her hasty judgment. She began to make excuses for Sir 
George. 

She knew how fond he was of sport. He might have 
been absent from home, and her letter might not have 
reached him. Surely it would have been wise, even 
though it would have humbled her pride, to write again 
to so kind a friend. And then, while she pondered 
through the fast darkening afternoon, the truth dawned on 
Marjorie’s startled mind. 


SUSPENSE 


165 

She had begun to think out a letter to Mr. Brown. Yes, 
when the woman brought her tea, she would once more 
ask for the pen, ink and paper which had been refused 
her, and she would ask this adventurer, as she called him, 
to name the sum of money for which he would set her 
free. She would have to ask Miss Eyon to pay the 
amount, for she had only a moderate quarterly allowance 
till she came of age. She believed that her aunt would 
do this, for although she had bade her marry Mr. Brown, 
she would not approve of his conduct in Helping her to 
run away. Suddenly something, she could not tell what, 
shed a broad light on her puzzle, and she sat in startled 
wonder at her previous blindness. Her letter had been 
intercepted, it had never reached Sir George Wolff, and 
she had walked blindfold into the trap which Miss Eyon 
and Mr. Brown had set for her. 

The girl shuddered and looked round her with horror. 

*'How dull I have been. I may die here,” she mur- 
mured. '^No one will ever know or ask what has be- 
come of me. They will think from my silence that ! am 
happy at Eyon Court. , My letters to Mrs. Locker, too, • 
have been kept back.” 

She hid her face in her hands. The hope which her 
plan of writing to Mr. Brown had called up was quenched 
in despair. Her tea and supper were left untasted, and 
when the woman came to take away the supper tray she 
eyed Marjorie curiously. 

‘‘ She thinks Em mad,” Marjorie said. Well, perhaps 
that will be the end of me.” 

But when night came her courage returned. She heard 


i66 


MISS EYON OF FYOM COUBT, 


the woman call out a loud good-night, and then the win- 
dow below was closed and barred. She heard the barring 
of the door, and then came a deathly stillness. Usually 
she heard, just after this, Mr. Brown’s voice in the room 
atthe bottom of the stairs, but there was no sound to-night. 

The girl determined to undress, so as to refresh herself 
by sound sleep ; then, if she felt brave enough, she would 
try to escape in the morning. It seemed to her that the 
woman was alone in the house, and she had noticed how 
slow and clumsy she was in her movements. When she 
brought up the breakfast, Marjorie determined she would 
find some means of distracting her attention and then 
boldly make a rush downstairs. She could fasten the door 
below and escape, she thought, before the woman could 
call the driver to help her. It was possible that he would 
not be there in the early morning. 

So she lay down to rest in the earnest hope that this 
might be her last night of imprisonment. She was con- 
scious of an increasing calm. She had grown to take this 
confinement so quietly that her fear was lest she should 
• sink into passiveness, and so against her own will consent 
to Mr. Brown’s terms. 

‘‘ If I can only sleep,” she said, ‘‘ I shall feel different 
to-morrow. ” 

She slept heavily — a sound, dreamless sleep — uncon- 
scious of the evil that had been worked and thought over, 
in the room in which she lay. 

Mr. Brown had spoken truly, he had lighted on this 
cottage by accident when he had lost his way on the moor, 
and he soon found out that the woman was in trouble, 


SUSPENSE, 167 

and greedy for money, but if he had searched among the 
dales far and near he could not have fixed on a place 
better suited to his evil purpose. The woman's husband 
was still undergoing a term of penal servitude as a re- 
ceiver of stolen goods, and her son, who had early fol- 
lowed his father's example, was in prison for burglary, 
although his mother called it poaching. The cottage had 
seen evil deeds and had heard foul words enough to give 
bad dreams to those who dwelt in it, but as Marjorie lay 
sleeping her sweet face was untroubled, and its look of 
peaceful innocence scared the evil visions that were used 
to haunt the low-roofed bed-chamber. 

All at once she started and opened her eyes. It was 
still dark, but the dog was barking. Marjorie sat up and 
listened. The dog was barking excitedly, she thought, 
but no one seemed to notice him. The sound, however, 
made her restless. She rose up, struck a light, and 
began to dress herself. 

When she looked out, the dog had gone back into his 
kennel, and the gray glimmer over the waste showed the 
beginning of dawn. But above the moor hung a pall of 
gradually whitening vapor, through which Marjorie's 
eyes tried vainly to pierce. This depressed her, for if it 
lasted she could not hope to find a path across the waste. 
The way by which Mr. Brown had guided her had no 
definite foot- track ; they had gone over clumps of heather 
and tussocks of rushes to the cottage. There might be a 
path leading away from the back ; Marjorie thought she 
remembered that Mr. Brown had said the stage-coach had 
set him down on the high-road a couple of miles away. 


i68 


MISS ETON OF ETON COURT, 


and her plan was to make for this high road, which must 
surely lead to a town — but it would be useless to start in 
a fog. 

It was bitterly cold, and when she had finished dress- 
ing she sat by the window, wrapt in her fur cloak. She 
had been fond of learning poetry by heart, and now as 
she looked out at the mist she repeated to herself all the 
hymns she knew, and several psalms. 

‘‘ I will trust and hope,'' she said. will not believe 
that God will permit that man to have his way." 

She felt far brighter and clearer this morning, and also 
she was more cheerful and determined to try her plan of 
escape directly the mist dispersed. 

All at once, as if in answer to her wishes, the wind 
came whistling round the house and soon scattered the 
mist ; it seemed to break up into fragments, which hung 
like pale clouds on the lowering sky, that showed a red 
tint in its eastern quarter. 

While Marjorie was gazing in the hope of seeing the 
sunrise, the dog barked again, and a faint far-off barking 
seemed to come in answer. The sound was repeated ; 
it came nearer and more distinct. Marjorie's heart gave 
a wild bound, for now she knew that it was the cry of 
foxhounds. She sat listening with greedy, strained ears 
— they were coming this way, now they were not far off, 
she could hear the huntsman’s voice as he shouted to the 
dogs, and then the pack burst into view, and as it dashed 
across from behind the cottage the huntsman followed ; 
then came one or two riders, spurring their horses across 
the rough ground. 


SUSPENSE. 169 

Marjorie flung open her window, and saw that the 
sportsmen, who followed now one after another, had to 
ride more slowly as they advanced. 

‘'Help! help!'’ she cried out, as loud as she could, 

“ for God's sake help me ! ” 

The two nearest of the horsemen stopped, then another 
group rode up ; they all looked hard at her, and seemed 
to be taking counsel together. 

Two of them who looked older than the rest, shook 
their heads and rode on ; but four others, who wore red 
coats, came towards the cottage. 

Marjorie heard the outer door open, and the woman 
came out and ran towards the horsemen. 

“ Help ! Help ! ” the girl cried again, “ I am kept here 
against my will." 

She could not hear what the woman was saying but 
she saw that she shook her head and pointed towards 
her. The effect of her words was magical. One after 
another the men rode on, each bestowing as he went a 
compassionate glance on the imploring girl, who stood 
with clasped hands at the window. The woman spoke 
to the dog, and his loud barking drowned Marjorie s voice 
as she strove to be heard by the next horseman that gal- 
loped past. 

Until this last one was out of sight — it seemed to the 
girl that she had not fully realized the boon that might 
have been hers, the chance of escape which had drifted 
past her. To her grief she saw a number of horsemen 
cross the moor, evidently in pursuit of the body of the 
hunt, which had taken another lead over the moor from 


mss EYON OF EYON COURT, 


tyo 

that chosen by the huntsman and his immediate followers, 
the huntsman’s horn sounded as the last horseman passed 
the cottage, and this had excited the dog and had doubled 
his deafening noise. 

It seemed to the girl impossible that all hope was over. 
She stood staring at the open window as if the whole 
thing had been a dream. 

Am I awake,” she said, ‘‘ can I have let such a chance 
go by — I might have tried harder — can it be quite over ? ” 

The woman’s call at the door below roused her. 

‘‘Pull your chairs up,” she said. “You shotild be 
ashamed to bring discredit upon an honest house by such 
screams and tales.” 

She spoke rudely and angrily. 

“There is no hurry,” the girl said, “ I will pull the 
chairs up when you bring my breakfast.” 

“I’ll not trouble you to do it,” — the woman spoke yet 
more roughly — “your window shall be nailed fast, and 
at once too.” 

She began to pull at the lowest chair, but it was a more 
difficult task than she had counted on, for as she used 
violence to pull the clumsy chair through, it stuck in the 
doorway. 

But Marjorie took no heed of her doings. She had gone 
back to the window, and as the woman spoke her last 
words, two more horsemen came round the corner of the 
cottage. They saw the girl at the window and looked at 
her as she cried out once more for help. They stopped, 
and Marjorie’s heart beat so fast she could hardly 
breathe. 


SUSPENSE, 


171 

One of the men rode close up to the cottage and looked 
up at her window. What is it ? '' he said. 

For God's sake help me," she cried. I have fallen 
into bad hands — Ah, Sir George Wolff," she cried. The 
shriek of joy made the woman leave the chair sticking in 
the doorway and hurry to the entrance. ‘‘Don't you 
know me. Sir George I am Marjorie Eyon." 


172 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT, 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

AT BAY. 

Ever since Sir George Wolff’s visit, Miss Eyon had been 
strangely silent Hannah was uneasy. Her mistress 
looked and seemed ill — the paleness of her face had 
changed its character. She was ghastly, and her eyes 
looked dull and without color. Yet when the old servant 
ventured to propose the doctor should be sent for, her 
mistress stared at her with derision on her lips. 

'‘Are you in second childhood already,” she said. 
“When I need a doctor I shall bid you fetch him. You 
have too little to do, Hannah, or you’d not find time in 
which to nurse fancies. We have none of us enough to 
do in this house.” 

This long sentence, after so many days of silence, re- 
assured the faithful maid as to her mistress’ health, and 
when an hour or so later Mr. Brown arrived, Hannah 
rejoiced in the hope that his visit would cheer her mis- 
tress. 

Two days before Marjorie left Eyon Court, Miss Eyon 
had cautioned Hannah not to meddle between her niece 
and Mr; Brown, and to tell the girl of his expected return 
on that evening ; but for all that when Hannah found that 
the girl had fled, she felt positive that Marjorie had gone 
away to avoid a marriage with him. Hannah hoped, 
however, when she saw Mr. Brown, that he had brought 
news of the runaway, and she looked at him far more 


AT BAT. 


173 

graciously than usual. He asked to see her mistress at 
once, and she noted the excitement of his manner. 

‘'My mistress is not quite well, Ah think, sir. She hev 
been sadly for several days,” she said, before she opened 
the door, of Miss Eyon's room. 

Mr. Brown frowned ; he made no remark, he did not 
even smile as he went up to Miss Eyon's table. 

He only nodded by way of greeting. Have you got 
her here .? ” he said sharply. 

Those old faded eyes had been scanning him curiously 
as he came in, had noted his splashed boots and clothes, 
and the hurry and agitation that had taken the place of 
his usual calm. 

But his words startled her. She was at once terrified 
and angered. She felt as if the secrets of Eyon Court 
were bared to the world, for it was not likely that Mar- 
jorie would be silent as to the treatment she had received 
there. 

“ Have you come here, Richard, to tell me you have 
let her escape you. Buttered fingers,” she said, with 
contempt. 

At this he swore so fiercely that she shrank against the 
side of her chair. 

“ Hush ! ” she said impressively. “ You are speaking 
to a lady, remember that if no other motive influences 
you. Tell me at once what has happened.” 

“ Eve been a fool, thafs all,” he said, bitterly. “I 
gave Marjorie time to come round. I forgot my creed 
about women, and I believed she was as simple as she 
seemed. I left her in safe keeping, as I thought, for t\Vo 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT. 


174 

days, and her friend, Sir George Wolff — curse him ! — 
found her out, and he has carried her off.” 

Miss Eyon’s hands moved restlessly, but her face was 
as rigid as ever. 

Well,” she said, after a pause, better he than an- 
other. Sir George is a magistrate ; he knows the laws, 
and he knows that a runaway ward must be brought 
back to her guardian. He will bring her back to me. He 
will not care about keeping Marjorie. I told him she had 
eloped with you. You see,” she added sarcastically, 
my plan was the safest. Sir George Wolff could not have 
carried her away from Eyon Court. She will come back 
here, Richard. She is perhaps now on her way, and she 
must marry you out of hand ; her reputation requires it. 
I want no explanation from either of you,” she said 
sternly. ‘‘Marjorie has been under your sole protection 
for nearly a week ; it is therefore necessary for her reputa- 
tion that you become her husband. ” 

He was walking up and down the room, tugging im- 
patiently at his whiskers and muttering to himself. He 
stopped in his walk and faced her. 

“How can I ? ” he asked. “ I have done all I can. I 
might, perhaps have had a chance if she had not got 
away, but there's no chance now unless, indeed ” — he 
paused— ‘‘ you ’ll consent, when she comes here, to let 
her be stupefied and managed that way. ” 

He was startled by the flash in Miss Eyon's eyes. 
They seemed to be galvanized, so suddenly had life and 
color returned to them. 

“ You are a villain,” she said, ‘'and if there were any 


AT BAT. 


175 


other way to effect my plans you should not marry the 
girl. I know better than you do what time and seclusion 
will do for Marjorie. I have two years before me, and I 
tell you that before they are over you shall marry her. 
As you tell me she is averse to you, for the present you 
must keep your distance ; she must be left entirely free, 
under my care. You have been a clumsy wooer, my 
fine gentleman.'' 

He had often borne her scoffs before, but to-day his 
anger flamed out. 

Sneer away, you old fool, "he said rudely. won- 
der whose fault it was that the girl ever thought of run- 
ning away from Eyon Court ; instead of humoring her 
until she did not know which end she stood on, and so 
sending her proud temper to sleep, you trampled on her 
and frightened her almost out of her wits ; you are solely 
to blame. What chance had I after that ? None, I say. 
Confound all women, old or young, the cat is in all of 
of them when they are rubbed the wrong way." 

He had raised his voice as he glared at the shuddering 
women. Suddenly he broke off and listened. There was 
loud talking outside, too — women's voices, and now a 
man's voice above the rest 

The outer door of the study opened, and tones which 
Miss Eyon recognized made themselves distinct 

'‘I tell you, my lass, I am a magistrate, and I have to 
see your mistress in that capacity. You cannot prevent 
my entrance." 

Brown turned a ghastly white and looked about him. 

The old woman who just now had cowered under his 


176 MISS EYON OF EYON COUBT. 

abuse, looked at him for an instant with pity. Then she 
seemed to gather in the fact of his danger, and without 
a word she pointed silently to her bedroom. 

As Sir George Wolff appeared at the inner door, the 
bedroom door closed on Mr. Brown. 

Except that she was less rigid than usual, no one would 
have guessed that Miss Eyon had just been greatly agi- 
tated. The only sign of the bitter humiliation she had 
suffered was in her unusual courtesy to the new comer. 

‘‘You have soon returned. Sir George,'' she said calmly. 
“May I ask you to be seated while you explain what 
your further business may be." 

Sir George remained standing, although he bowed in 
acknowledgment. 

“My business, madam, will not take long to explain," 
he said. “I am sorry to have again to disturb you, but 
I have signed a warrant against your agent, Richard 
Brown for the abduction and forced imprisonment of your 
great-niece. Miss Majorie Eyon, and I have ridden over 
with the constables to see it executed." 

Miss Eyon smiled at his formal announcement. She 
saw that if she gave Richard Brown time he would be 
able to escape. She felt sure that he could overhear Sir 
George Wolff's words from her bedroom. 

“ This is a very strange statement," she said. 

“ Are you sure that you are correctly informed. Mr. 
Brown is a gentleman in whom I put full confidence." 

“ He has deceived you," Sir George said severely, “t 
have my information from Marjorie herself. She has 
suffered much ill-treatment at the hands of this person. 


AT BAY, 


177 

It appears that you were entirely mistaken in supposing 
that she wished to become his wife.” 

Miss Eyon looked at Sir George and smiled, but he 
was too much in earnest to argue. 

'' He will have to answer for this, and I am here,” Sir 
George went on, ‘‘ to ask your leave to searqh the house. 
We learned on our way that this man Brown was seen to 
ride up your avenue not an hour ago. You will therefore 
allow us to look for him ? ” 

'' May I ask Sir George Wolff from whom the informa- 
comes that Mr. Brown is here ? ” 

Miss Eyon spoke so haughtily that Sir George felt im- 
patient. 

‘‘I am not obliged to answer that question, madam, 
but a man named Tobias Horner gave me the information ; 
and I find that he and this man Brown have been seen 
together more than once, so that there could not be a mis- 
take of identity. 

Miss Eyon looked at him with contempt. ‘'It is well 
that you told me yourself,” she said. “I could not 
otherwise have been brought to believe that Sir George 
Wolff, a magistrate too, could have been such a confiding 
simpleton.” 

He started as if he had been struck, but the next minute 
he smiled. 

“That man, Tobias Horner,” she went on to say, “is 
a notorious liar and vagrant, far more worthy your at- 
tention than any one I am likely to know. But I see that 
you are impatient. You wish me to answer your re- 
quest to search the house, '' 


178 MISS ETON OF ETON COURT. 

She paused. 

'"We are losing time/’ he said. If you please, Madam, 
I will make the search myself with one of your servants ; 
it will be pleasanter for you.” 

She sat up and looked sternly at him, then, clasping 
the arms of her chair with those withered ivory colored 
fingers, she said in a loud harsh voice : 

‘‘You will do no such thing. You will go as you 
came, and you will not enter a single room besides this 
one. I am still mistress in my own house. Sir George 
Wolff. I refuse.” 

He stood for a few moments without giving her an 
answer. 

‘^You are acting unwisely,” he said. “I might insist, 
but you cannot prevent me from surrounding the house 
and taking this fellow into custody in that way ; the plan 
I first proposed would have been less public.” 

Even then she could not repress her contempt. “ What 
a fool the man is,” she thought, “why does he blab 
out what he means to do. Well, Richard will be doubly 
warned. You will have to answer for this outrage,” she 
said aloud. “ I tell you there is no one in the house be- 
sides the family, but if you persist in your purpose, I 
shall not let it pass quietly. I am an old woman, but 
not too old and feeble to be at the mercy of a bullying 
magistrate. ” 

Instead of answering. Sir George Wolff walked twice 
across the study ; he seemed to be debating some pur- 
pose with himself. At last he came up to Miss Eyon’s 


AT BAY. 


179 

table and stood, not looking at her, but with his eyes 
fixed on the door by which Mr. Brown had escaped. 

'‘You had not denied he was in the house before,'' 
he said; "now you force me to speak more plainly. 
Just as I came into this room, while I was at the door, I 
heard a man speak in a loud and angry voice, and yet I 
found you here alone. Mr. Brown is in that room." 
He pointed to Miss Eyon's bedroom. 

A faint sound like that of a closing door told him and 
Miss Eyon that some one had passed out of the other 
room, and Sir George Wolff made a quick step forward. 

Miss Eyon rose up, and with surprising swiftness she 
had reached the door of the bedroom and placed herself 
against it. 

"You betray yourself, madam," He could not help 
admiring her courage. " I must use other means. But 
why do you take the part of a fellow like this 1 Believe 
me, this Brown is a low impostor, who has gained your 
confidence for his own vile ends." 

He meant to leave her as he spoke, for he was anxious 
to see that all the doors and windows were watched, but 
Miss Eyon came up quickly to him and laid her hand 
on his arm. Now that she stood erect he saw how tall 
she was : her eyes seemed almost on a level with his as 
she fixed them on his face. The hard scorn had left 
those pale blue eyes, they looked imploring ; it seemed to 
him there was an agonized pleading in them. 

"You must spare him" — her voice had a strange 
broken sound ; "you cannot, as a gentleman, refuse to 
do so. Do you know why I shield this young man ? 


i8o MISS EYON OF ETON COURT. 

You cannot know, and I will tell you. Because I will 
not let you do a deed that would bring a sorrow on you. 
You have called Richard Brown an impostor, but that is 
not a true word. . . . He has been sinned against far 
more than he has sinned. ... If he deserves punish- 
ment it must not fall upon him here ” 

She gasped for breath. Her dry lips seemed unable to 
finish all she had to say, but Sir George Wolff listened in 
a sort of fascinated silence. That withered hand on his 
arm and the pleading of the sad eyes held him fast. 

‘‘ Richard Brown is my child,'’ she said at last. His 
father was my son. . . . Now tear open, if you 

will, the shame of Eyon Court, and destroy in one mo- 
ment the whole toil of a life. . . . Yes, I had willed 

that he should marry the girl. . . I will it still, or do 

you,” she laughed with her old sneer, do you mean to 
take his leavings ? ” 

Her face contracted ; the sudden passion that had sup- 
ported her as suddenly fled. While Sir George Wolff 
stood stupefied by her words, her hands left his arm, she 
swayed backwards and fell back against the wall, close 
to the door by which Richard Brown escaped. 


EPILOGUE. 


i8i 


EPILOGUE. 

The doctor turned away from the bed on which they 
had placed the stiff, insensible figure. 

‘'She will not rally,'' he said to Sir George Wolff and 
to Hannah, who looked more dead than alive as she 
stood by the bed. “ Life may linger for more than a day, 
but she will not speak or move again. I am of no fur- 
ther use." 

The doctor buttoned up his coat and went. 

The search for Richard Brown proved fruitless. The 
shock of Miss Eyon's sudden attack had disabled Sir 
George Wolff from taking prompt measures, and, al- 
through the house was thoroughly examined, no trace of 
the young man was found. 

“Ah wad bide content, sir," Hannah said, when she 
had guided him along the galleries and into all the de- 
serted rooms. “Ah wad let him be; ye'll mebbe do 
more harm than good both to dead an' livin'. Eh, sir, 'tis 
best to let ill-doings rest; there'll be mebbe a sting left in 
them nobbut you bring them to the light." 

Sir George Wolff looked at her keenly and her eyes 
dropped. He guessed that the woman had known Miss 
Eyon's secret. Then, while Hannah hurried back to her 
dying mistress, Sir George Wolff dismissed the con- 
stables. 


i 82 


MISS EYON OF ETON COURT. 


‘‘Better so/' he said as he rode thoughtfully through 
the village, “and then her secret dies with the poor old 
woman — Marjorie will never know why her aunt strove 
to foist this scoundrel on her as a husband." 

Then he urged on his horse ; he was not going home, 
he was on his way to Marjorie. He had remained in the 
cottage on the moor while the friend with whom he was 
staying went home to fetch a carriage, and then when 
Marjorie was ready Sir George had taken her to Selby. 
Now it seemed to him that he ought at once to take the 
tidings of Miss Eyon's illness to the girl. 

Marjorie had been so excited by all she had gone 
through that after she had told him the narrative of her 
flight from Eyon Court, and of Brown's misconduct. Sir 
George had not encouraged her to talk, and as soon as he 
had seen her safe with Mrs. Locker he hurried back to 
Laleham to take measures for Brown's apprehension. 

He asked himself now, as he rode from Eyon Court to 
Masham, how it would be with him and Marjorie when 
they met again. She did not care for this man Brown, 
or she would not have given him up to justice; and yet 
she had sought his help and his advice. 

“Well," he said, at last, “I must be content to play a 
father's part. I shall have her friendship and her confidence, 
but she will choose a younger man to give her love to." 

It was evening when he reached Selby, and he had 
become depressed. Even the prospect of seeing Marjorie 
had a certain bitterness, for he had decided that she could 
never love him well enough to become his wife. 


EPILOGUE. 183 

He found [her sitting alone, but she rose up and met 
him with a look of loving gratitude. 

When she heard what had happened, she wished at 
once to return to Eyon Court to nurse her aunt, but Sir 
George would not permit this. He said that Miss Eyon 
would not recognize her, and that probably life would 
have flown before Marjorie could reach the manor house. 

‘‘ You will be guided by my advice, will you not ? '' he 
said. 

Marjorie looked up timidly. At the cottage, when she 
had given him a brief account of her adventures, she had 
spoken with horror of Mr. Brown ; but still she feared 
that Sir George must be angry with her for her foolish 
trust in this man's protection. 

‘‘Yes," she said softly. 

“And you will consider me your old friend, you will 
let me sometimes come to see you in the old way ? " 

Tears came to her eyes. She longed to tell him all she 
had learned about her own feelings in those sad hours on 
the moor, but she dared not. He was so frank, so 
brotherly in his manner, it was evident that he had left 
off loving her. 

“You know you are always most welcome," she said, 
shyly ; she did not look up at him. 

Then his face took a new expression. 

“Take care, my child," he said; “do not say more 
than you mean. It is cruel to be too kind to me, Mar- 
jorie." 

She looked up at him. And he did not mistake the 
meaning he saw in her eyes. 


84 


MISS EYON OF ETON COUBT. 


Few more words were spoken, but when Mrs. Locker 
came in to see her visitor, she found Sir George sitting 
with his arm round Marjorie. 

We have settled it,*' he said, as he went forward and 
shook hands ; this dear child says I am not as old as 1 
fancied myself, and that she intends to put up with me as 
a husband. What do you think of her, Mrs. Locker ? " 

THE END. 


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